tihraxy  of  Che  Cheologfcai  ^tminaty 

PRINCETON  .  NEW  JERSEY 

FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
ROBERT  ELLIOTT  SPEER 


BX  7233  .B8  S4  1891 
Bushnell,  Horace,  1802-1876. 
Sermons  for  the  new  life 


DR.  BUSHNELL'S  WORKS. 


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SERMONS 


THE  NEW  LIEE 


BY 


IIOllACE    BUSHNELL 


REVISED   EDITION. 


NEW    YORK  : 
CHARLES     SCRIBNER'S     SONS, 


uo»TBioHT,  1876,  n 
HAB¥    A      BUSHMBLL. 


Trow's 

Printing  and  Bookbinding  Co., 

305-213  East  \ith  St., 

new   YORK. 


TO  MY   DEAR  FLOCK  IN  HARTFORD, 

WHO   HAVE    iDHEKED  TP  ME 
IN      DAYS     OP      ACCUSATION, 

i>"D   HAVE   UPHELD  ME   FOR   A  QUARTER  OF  A  CEISTDR! 

IN     THE     MUCH     GREATEK     TRIALS     OP 

A    CONSCIOUSLT    INSUPPICIENT    AND    DEFECTrVE    MLNI9TRT, 

THESE  SERMONS  ARE  INSCRIBED 

AS   A   TOKEN    OP 
JUtSPKCT    AND    IMPERISHAB  ,E    AFFECTION. 

H.  B. 


CONTENTS 

I. 

EVERY  MAN'S  LIFE  A  PLAN  OF  G.D. 

vtoi 

IsAiAH  xlv.  5.—"  I  girded  thee,  though  thou  hast  not  known  me."    $ 

II. 

THE  SPIRIT   IN   MAN. 
.]0B  xxxh".  8. — "But  there  i.s  a  spirit  in  man,  and  the  inspiration 

of  the  Almighty  giveth  them  understanding." 2C 

III. 

DIGNITY  OF  HUMAN  NATURE  SHOWN  FROM  ITS  RUINS. 
Romans  iii.  13-18. — "Their  throat  is  an  open  sepulchre;  with 
their  tongues  they  have  used  deceit ;  the  poison  of  asps  is 
under  their  lips.  "Whose  mouth  is  full  of  cursing  and  bitter- 
ness. Their  feet  are  swift  to  shed  blood.  Destruction  and 
misery  are  in  their  ways.  And  the  way  of  peace  they  have 
not  known.     There  is  no  fear  of  God  before  their  eyes."      . 


50 


IV. 

THE  HUNGER  OP  THE  SOUL. 
LcKE  XV.  17. — "And  when  he  came  to  himself,  he  said,  How 
many  hired  servants  of  my  father's  have  bread  enough  and 
to  spara,  and  I  perish  with  hunger."     ..         .    .         .  71 

Y. 

THE  REASON  OF  FAITH. 
John  vi    36.—  *But  T  said  unto  you,  That  ye  also  have  seen  me 
and  believe  not.' SI 


IV  CONTENTS 

VI. 

REGENERATION. 

PAGE 

John  iii.  3. — "Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  him,  Verily,  verily 
I  say  unto  thie,  except  a  man  be  born  again,  he  can  not  see 
the  kingdom  of  God." IOC 

VII. 

THE  PERSONAL  LOVE  AND  LEAD   OF   CHRIST. 
John  x.  3. — "  And  he  calleth  his  own  sheep  by  name  and  leadeth 
them  out." 127 

VIII. 
LIGHT  ON  THE  CLOUD. 
Job  xxxvii.  21. — "And  now  men  see  not  the  bright  light  which 

is  in  the  clouds :  but  the  wind  passeth,  and  cleanseth  them."  143 

IX. 

THE  CAPACITY  OF  RELIGION   EXTIRPATED  BY   DISUSE. 
Matthew  xxv.  28. — "Take,  therefore,  the  talent  from  him."  ,    .  16E 

X. 

UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE, 
John  xx,  8. — "  Then  went  in  also  that  other  disciple."    .     .     .  18fl 

XI. 

OBLIGATION  A  PRIVILEGE. 
Psalm  cxix.  54. — "Thy  statutes   have   been  my  songs  in  the 

house  of  my  pilgrimage."    .     = 206 

XII 

HAPPINESS  AND  JOY. 
John  xv.  11. — "These  things  have  I  .spoken  unto  you,  that  my 

joy  might  remain  in  you,  and  that  your  joy  might  be  full."  223 


CONTENTS.  V 

xin. 

THE  TRUE  PROlilEil  OP  CHRISTIAN  EXPERIENCE. 

PAOB 

llEVEiM.TtONs  ii.   4. — "Nevertheless,    I   have   somewhat   against 
thee,  because  thou  hast  left  thy  first  love." 243 

XIV 

THE   LOST   PURITY   RESTORED. 
I    loHN,  iii.  3.— -"And  every  man  that  hath  this  hope  in  him 

purifleth  himself,  even  as  he  is  pure." 263 

XV. 

LIVING  TO  GOD  IN  SMALL  THINGS. 
Luke  xvL  10. — "He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least,  is 
faithful  also  in  much ;  and  he  that  is  unjust  in  the  least,  is 
unjust  also  in  much." 289 

XVI. 

THE  POWER  OF   AN   ENDLESS  LIFE 
Hebrews  vii.  16. — "Who  is  made,  not  after  tiie  law  of  a  carnal 

commandment,  but  after  the  power  of  an  endless  life."  .     .  304 

XVII. 

'                       RESPECTABLE  SIN 
John  viii.  9. — "  And  they  which  heard  it,  being  convicted  by 
their  own  conscience,  went  out,  one  by  one,  beginning  at  the 
eldest,  even  unto  the  last,  and  Jesus  was  left  alone,  and  the 
woman  standing  in  the  midst."  820 

XVIII. 

THE  POWER  OF  GOD   IN  SELF-SACRIFICE. 
I  CoRrNTHiANS  i.  24. — "Christ  the  power  of  God."     .     .  .     .  34G 


VI  CONTENTS 

XIX. 

DUTY   NOT  MEASURED  BY  OUR  OWN    iBILITY. 

Ldkk  ix.    It. — " But  he  said  unto  them,  Give  ye  them  to  eat.     .   304 

XX. 

HE  THAT  KNOWS  GOD  WILL  CONFESS  HIM. 

Psalm  xL  10. — "I  have  not  hid  th}'  righteousness  within  my 

heart ;   I  have  declared  thy  faithfulness  and  thy  salvation:  I 

have  not  concealed  thy  loving-kindness  and  thy  truth  from 

the  great  congregation." 383 

XXI. 

THE  EFFICIENCY  OF  THE  PASSIVE  VIRTUES. 
Revelations  i.  9. — "The  kingdom  and  patience  of  Jesus  Christ."  899 

XXII. 

SPIRITUAL  DISLODGEMENTS. 
Jeremiah  xlviii.  11. — "  Moab  hath  been  at  ease  from  his  youth, 
and  he  hath  settled  on  his  lees,  and  hath  not  been  emptied 
from  vessel  to  vessel,  neither  hath  he  gone  into  captivity; 
therefore  his  taste  remained  in  him,  and  his  scent  is  not 
changed." 11 5 

XXIIi. 

CHRIST  AS  SEPARATE   FROM   THE  WORLD.' 
[Iebkews  vii.  26. — "Sepante  from  sinners,  and  made  higher  than 
the  heavens. ^ 


EVER"i    man's   life   A   PLAN   OF  GOD. 

ISAlAH  xlv.  5. — "  T  girded   thee,    though  thou   hast  'sioi 
Known  meP 

So  beautiful  is  the  character  and  history  of  Cyrus,  the 
person  here  addressed,  that  many  have  doubted  whether 
the  sketch  given  by  Xeuophon  was  not  intended  as  an 
idealizing,  or  merely  romantic  picture.  And  yet,  there 
have  been  examples  of  as  great  beauty  unfolded,  here  and 
there,  in  all  the  darkest  recesses  of  the  heathen  world,  and 
it  accords  entirely  with  the  hypothesis  of  historic  verity 
in  the  account  given  us  of  this  remarkable  man,  that  he  is 
designated  and  named  by  our  prophet,  even  before  he  is 
born,  as  a  chosen  foster-son  of  God.  "I  have  surnamed 
thee,"  he  declares,  "I  have  girded  thee,  though  thou  hast 
not  known  me."  And  what  should  he  be  but  a  model 
of  all  princely  beauty,  of  bravery,  of  justice,  of  impartial 
honor  to  the  lowly,  of  greatness  and  true  magnanimity  in 
every  form,  when  God  has  girded  him,  unseen,  to  be  the 
minister  of  his  own  great  and  sovereign  purposes  to  the 
nations  of  his  time. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  will  also  be  detected  in  the 
history  and  personal  consciousness  of  almost  every  great 
and  remarkable  character.  Christ  himself  testifies  to  the 
girding  of  the  Almighty,  when  he  says, —  "To  this  end 
was  I  born,  and  for  this  purpose  came  I  into  the  world.'' 
Abraham  was  girded  for  a  particular  work  and  mission,  ia 


10  EVERY    man's     life 

what  is  otherwise  denominated  his  call.  Joseph,  in  Egjpt, 
distinguishes  the  girding  of  Grod's  hand,  when  he  comfortt 
his  guilty  brothers  in  the  assurance, — "So,  it  was  not  you 
th.it  sent  me  hither,  but  God."  Moses  and  Samuel  were 
oven  called  by  name,  and  set  to  their  great  life-work,  in 
the  same  manner.  And  what  is  Paul  endeavoiing,  in  all 
the  stress  and  pressure  of  his  mighty  apostleship,  but  to  per- 
form the  work  for  which  Grod's  Spirit  girded  him  at  his 
call,  and  to  apprehend  that  for  which  he  was  apprehended 
of  Christ  Jesus.  And  yet  these  great  master-spirits  of  the 
world  are  not  so  mu^h  distinguished,  after  all,  by  the  acta 
they  do,  as  by  the  sense  itself  of  some  mysterious  girding 
of  the  Almighty  upon  them,  whose  behests  they  are  set  on 
to  fulfill.  And  all  men  may  have  this;  for  the  humblest 
and  commonest  have  a  place  and  a  work  assigned  them,  in 
the  same  manner,  and  have  it  for  their  privilege  to  be 
always  ennobled  in  the  same  lofty  consciousness.  God  ia 
girding  every  man  for  a  pLace  and  a  calling,  in  which, 
taking  it  from  him,  even  though  it  be  internally  humble, 
he  may  be  as  consciously  exalted  as  if  he  held  the  rule  oi 
a  kingdom.  The  truth  I  propose  then  for  your  considera- 
tion is  this, — 

That  God  has  a  definite  life-plan  for  every  human  person^ 
girding  him,  visibly  or  invisibly,  for  some  exact  thing,  which 
it  loill  be  the  true  significance  and  glory  of  his  life  to  have 
ttccamplished. 

Many  persons,  I  am  well  aware,  never  even  think  of  any 
gu  3h  thing.  They  suppose  that,  for  most  men,  life  is  a 
necessarily  stale  and  common  affair.  "What  it  means  for 
them  they  do  not  know,  and  they  scarcely  conceive  that  it 
means  any  thing.     They  even  complain,  venting  heav;j 


A     PLjilS     OF     GOD.  II 

sighs,  that,  while  some  few  are  set  forward  by  God  l<3  do 
great  works  and  fill  important  places,  they  are  not  allowea 
to  believe  that  there  is  any  particular  object  in  their  ex- 
istence. It  is  remarkable,  considering  how  geneially 
this  kind  of  impression  prevails,  that  the  Holy  Scriptures 
never  give  way  to  it,  but  seem,  as  it  were,  in  all  possi 
ble  ways,  to  be  holding  up  the  dignity  of  common  life, 
and  giving  a  meaning  to  its  appointments,  which  the 
natural  dullness  and  lowness  of  mere  human  opinion  can 
not  apprehend. 

They  not  only  show  us  explicitly,  as  we  have  seen,  that 
God  has  a  definite  purpose  in  the  lives  of  men  already 
great,  but  they  show  us,  how  frequently,  in  the  conditions 
of  obscurity  and  depression,  preparations  of  counsel  going  | 
on,  by  which   the  commonest  offices  are  to  become  the  j 
necessary  first  chapter  of  a  great  and  powerful  history.  ''} 
David  among  the  sheep ;  Elisha  following  after  the  plough; 
Nehemiah  bearing  the  cup ;  Hannah,  who  can  say  nothing 
less  common  than  that  she  is  the  wife  of  Elkanah  and  a 
woman  of  a  sorrowful  spirit, — who,  that  looks  on  these 
humble  people,  at  their  humble  post  of  service,  and  dis- 
covers, at  last,  how  dear  a  purpose  God  was  cherishing  in 
them,  can  be  justified  in  thinking  that  God  has  no  particu- 
lar plan   for   him,  because   he  is  not  signalized  by  aiiy 
kind  of  distinction? 

Besides,  what  do  the  scriptures  show  as,  but  that  God 
has  a  particular  care  for  every  man,  a  personal  interest  in 
him  and  a  sympathy  with  him  and  his  trials,  watching 
for  the  uses  of  his  one  talent  as  attentively  and  kindly 
and  approving  him  as  heartily,  in  the  right  employment  of 
it,  aa  if  he  had  given  him  ten;  and,  what  is  the  giving  out 
of  tlic  talents  itself  V,ut  an  exh:ibition  of  the  fact  that  God 


12  EVERY     MA!S''S    LIFE 

has  a  definite  purpose,  charge  and  woik,  be  it  tJiis  or  that 
for  every  man? 

They  also  make  it  the  privilege  of  every  man  to  1  ve  in 
the  secret  guidance  of  God;  which  is  plainly  nugatory, 
ujiless  there  is  some  chosen  -work,  or  sphere,  into  which 
he  may  be  guided ;  for  how  shall  God  guide  him,  having 
nothing  appointed  or  marked  out  for  him  to  be  guided 
into?  no  fieLl  opened  for  him,  no  course  set  down  which 
is  to  be  his  wisdom? 

God  also  professes  in  his  Word  to  have  purposes  pre-ar- 
ranged for  all  events ;  to  govern  by  a  plan  which  is  from 
eternity  even,  and  which,  in  some  proper  sense,  compre- 
hends every  thing.  And  what  is  this  but  another  way 
of  conceiving  that  God  has  a  definite  place  and  plan  ad- 
justed for  every  human  being?  And,  without  such  a  plan, 
he  could  not  even  govern  the  world  intelligently,  or  make 
a  proper  universe  of  the  created  system ;  for  it  becomes  a 
universe  only  in  the  grand  unity  of  reason,  which  includes 
it.  Otherwise,  it  were  only  a  jumble  of  fortuities,  without 
counsel,  end  or  law. 

Turning,  now,  from  the  scriptures  to  the  works  of  God, 
how  constantly  are  we  met  here  by  the  fact,  everywhere 
visible,  that  ends  and  uses  are  the  regulative  reasons  of  all 
existing  things.  This  we  discover  often,  when  we  are 
least  able  to  understand  the  speculative  mystery  of  objects; 
for  it  is  precisely  the  tises  of  things  that  are  most  palpable. 
These  uses  are  to  God,  no  doubt,  as  to  us,  the  significance 
of  his  works.  And  they  compose,  taken  together,  a  grand 
reciprocal  system,  in  which  part  answers  actively  to  part, 
constructing  thus  an  all-comprehensive  and  glorious  whola 
And  the  system  is,  in  fact,  so  perfect,  that  the  loss  or  displace' 
mcnt  of  any  member  would  fatally  derange  the  general 


APLANOFGOD.  13 

order.  If  there  were  anj  smallest  star  in  heaven  thai 
had  no  place  to  fill,  that  oversight  would  beget  a  disturb- 
ance which  no  Leverrier  could  compute ;  because  it  would 
be  a  real  and  eternal,  and  not  merely  casual  or  apparent 
disorder.  One  grain,  more  or  less,  of  sand  would  disturb, 
or  even  fatally  disorder  the  whole  scheme  of  the  heavenly 
motions.  So  nicely  balanced,  and  so  carefully  hung,  are 
the  worlds,  that  even  the  grains  of  their  dust  are  counted, 
and  their  places  adjusted  to  a  correspondent  nicety.  There 
is  nothing  included  in  the  gross,  or  total  sum,  that  could 
be  dispensed  with."  The  same  is  true  in  regard  to  forces 
that  are  apparently  irregular.  Every  particle  of  air  is 
moved  by  laws  of  as  great  precision  as  the  laws  of  the 
heavenly  bodies,  or,  indeed,  by  the  same  laws;  keeping  its 
appointed  place,  and  serving  its  appointed  use.  Every 
odor  exhales  in  the  nicest  conformity  with  its  appointed 
place  and  law.  Even  the  viewless  and  mysterious  heat, 
stealing  through  the  dark  centers  and  impenetrable  depths 
of  the  worlds,  obeys  its  uses  with  unfaltering  exactness, 
dissolving  never  so  much  as  an  atom  that  was  not  to  be 
dissolved.  What  now  shall  we  say  of  man,  appearing,  as 
it  were,  in  the  center  of  this  great  circle  of  uses.  They  .^ 
are  all  adjusted  for  him :  has  he,  then,  no  ends  appointed  , 
for  himself?  Noblest  of  all  creatures,  and  closest  to  God, 
as  he  certainly  is,  are  we  to  say  that  his  Creator  has  no 
definite  thoughts  concerning  him,  no  place  prepared  for 
him  to  fill,  no  use  for  him  to  serve,  which  is  the  reason  of 
his  existence? 

There  is,  then,  I  conclude,  a  definite  and  proper  end,  oi 
issue,  for  every  man's  existence;  an  end,  which,  to  the 
heart  of  God,  is  the  good  intended  for  him,  or  for  which 
he  was  intended ;  that  which  he  is  privileged  to  becomev 


14  EVERY     man's     LIFE 

I  called  to  become,  ought  to  become;  that  which  God  mil 
I  assist  him  to  become  and  which  he  can  not  miss,  save  by 
i ,  his  own  fault.  Every  human  soul  has  a  complete  and  j  ci 
I  I  feet  plan,  cherished  for  it  in  the  heart  of  God — a  divi!?? 
\  \  biography  marked  out,  which  it  enters  into  life,  to  live 
This  life,  rightly  unfolded,  will  be  a  complete  and  beauti- 
ful whole,  an  experience  led  on  by  God  and  unfolded  by 
his  secret  nurture,  as  the  trees  and  the  flowers,  by  the  secret 
nurture  of  the  world ;  a  drama  cast  in  the  mould  of  a  per- 
fect art,  with  no  part  wanting ;  a  divine  study  for  the  man 
himself,  and  for  others;  a  study  that  shall  forever  unfold, 
in  wondrous  beauty,  the  love  and  faithfulness  of  God; 
great  in  its  conception,  great  in  the  Divine  skill  by  which 
it  is  shaped ;  above  all,  great  in  the  momentous  and  glori- 
ous issues  it  prepares.  What  a  thought  is  this  for  every 
human  soul  to  cherish  !  What  dignity  does  it  add  to  life ! 
What  support  does  it  bring  to  the  trials  of  life !  What  in- 
stigations does  it  add  to  send  us  onward  in  every  thing 
that  constitutes  our  excellence !  We  live  in  the  Divine 
thought.  We  fill  a  place  in  the  great  everlasting  plan  of 
God's  intelligence.  We  never  sink  below  his  care,  never 
drop  out  of  his  counsel. 

But  there  is,  I  must  add,  a  single,  but  very  important 

and  even  fearful  qualification.     Things  all  serve  their  uses, 

h  and  never  br<^ak  out  of  their  place.     They  have  no  power 

'to  do  it.     Not  so  with  us.     We  are  able,  as  free  beings,  to 

-"i-efuse  the  place  and  the  duties  God  appoints ;  which,  if  we 

do.  then  we  sink  into  something  lower  and  less  worthy  of 

us.     That  highest  andbestconditionfor  which  God  designed 

us  is  no  more  possible.     We  are  fallen  out  of  it,  and  it 

can  not  be  wholly  recovered.     And  yet,  as  that  was  the 

best  thing  possible  for  us  in  the  reach  of  God's  origiuai 


A     PLAN     OF     CtOJj.  IS 

^jufiscl,  so  there  is  a  place  designed  for  us  now,  which  is 
the  next  best  possible.  God  calls  us  now  to  the  best  thing 
left,  and  will  do  so  till  all  good  possibility  is  narrowed 
down  and  spent.  And  then,  when  he  can  not  use  us  any 
more  for  our  own  good,  he  will  use  us  for  the  good  of 
otlj€;rSj — an  example  of  the  misery  and  horrible  desj)era- 
tion  to  which  any  soul  must  come,  when  all  the  good  ends, 
and  all  the  holy  callings  of  God's  friendly  and  fatherly 
pi'iTpose  are  exhausted.  Or  it  may  be  now  that,  remitting 
all  other  plans  and  purposes  in  our  behalf,  he  will  hence- 
forth  use  us,  wholly  against  our  will,  to  be  the  demonstra- 
tion of  his  justice  and  avenging  power  before  the  eyes  of 
mankind ;  saying  over  us,  as  he  did  over  Pharaoh  in  the 
day  of  his  judgments,  "  Even  for  this  same  purpose  have 
I  raised  thee  up,  that  I  might  show  my  power  in  thee,  and 
that  my  name  might  be  declared  throughout  all  the  earth." 
Doubtless,  He  had  other  and  more  genial  plans  to  serve  in 
this  bad  man,  if  only  he  could  have  accepted  such;  but, 
knowing  his  certain  rejection  of  these,  God  turned  hia 
mighty  counsel  in  him  wholly  on  the  use  to  be  made  of 
him  as  a  reprobate.  How  many  Pharaohs  in  common  life 
refuse  every  other  use  God  will  make  of  them,  choosing  only 
to  figure,  in  their  small  way,  as  reprobates ;  and  descend- 
ing, in  that  manner,  to  a  fate  that  painfully  mimics  his. 

God  Has,  then,  I  conclude,  a  definite  life-plan  set  for 
every  man;  one  that,  being  accepted  and  followed,  will 
conduct  him  to  the  best  and  noblest  end  possible.  No 
ijualification  of  this  doctrine  is  needed,  save  the  fearful 
one  just  named;  that  we,  by  our  perversity,  so  often  refuse 
to  take  the  place  and  do  the  work  he  gives  us. 

It  follows,  in  the  same  way,  that,  as  Godj^in  fixing  ou 
our  end  or  use,  will  choose  the  best  end  or  use  possible,  so 


'6  EVERY    man's    life 

.he  will  appoint  lor  us  the  best  manner  possible  of  attaiii 
ing  it;  for,  as  it  is  a  part  of  God's  perfection  to  choose  thd 
best  things,  and  not  things  partially  good,  so  it  will  be  in 
all  the  methods  he  prescribes  for  their  attainment.  An>i 
so,  as  you  pass  on,  stage  by  stage,  in  your  courses  uf  ex- 
perience, it  is  made  clear  to  you  thai,  whatever  you  have 
laid  upon  3'ou  to  do  or  to  suffer,  whatever  to  want,  what' 
ever  to  surrender  or  to  conquer,  is  exactly  best  for  jou. 
Your  life  is  a  school,  exactly  adapted  to  your  lesson,  and 
that  to  the  best,  last  end  of  your  existence. 

No  room  for  a  discouraged  or  depressed  feeling,  there- 
fore, is  left  you.  Enough  that  you  exist  for  a  purpose 
high  enough  to  give  meaning  to  life,  and  to  support  a 
genuine  inspiration.  If  your  sphere  is  outwardly  humble, 
if  it  even  appears  to  be  quite  insignificant,  God  under- 
stands it  better  than  you  do,  and  it  is  a  part  of  his  wisdom 
to  bring  out  great  sentiments  in  humble  conditions,  great 
principles  in  works  that  are  outwardly  trivial,  great  char- 
acters under  great  adversities  and  heavy  loads  of  incum- 
brance. The  tallest  saints  of  God  will  often  be  those  who 
walk  in  the  deepest  obscurity,  and  are  even  despised  or 
quite  overlooked  by  man.  Let  it  be  enough  that  God  is 
in  your  history,  tiiat  the  plan  of  vour  biography  is  his, 
end  the  issue  he  has  set  for  it  tlie  higliest  and  the  best. 
Away,  then,  0  man,  with  thy  feeble  complaints  an(il 
feverish  despondencies.  There  is  no  place  left  for  this 
kind  of  nonsense.  Let  it  fill  thee  with  cheerfuhicss  and 
exalted  feeling,  however  deep  in  obscurity  your  lot  may 
be,  that  God  is  leading  you  on,  girding  you  for  a-  work, 
preparing  you  to  a  good  that  is  worthy  of  his  Divine 
magnificence.  If  God  is  really  preparing  us  all  to  become 
that  which  is  the  very  highest  and  best  thing  possible 


A    PLAN    OF    GOD.  1? 

Ihere  ought  never  to  be  a  discouraged  or  uacliecrfiil  bi'ing 
in  the  world. 

Nor  is  it  any  detraction  from  such  a  kind  cf  life  that 
the  helm  of  its  guidance  is,  bj'  the  supposition,  to  be  ir\ 
God,  and  not  in  our  own  will  and  wisdom.  This,  in  fact, 
h  its  dignity:  it  is  a  kind  of  divine  order,  a  creation 
molded  by  the  loving  thoughts  of  God;  in  that  view. 
to  the  man  himself  a  continual  discovery,  as  it  is  unfolded, 
both  of  himself  and  God.  A  discovery  of  some  kind  it 
must  be  to  all ;  for,  however  resolutely  or  defiantly  we 
undertake  to  accomplish  our  own  objects,  and  cut  our  own 
way  through  to  a  definite  self-appointed  future,  it  wilJ 
never  be  true,  for  one  moment,  that  we  are  certain  of  this 
future,  and  will  almost  always  be  true  that  we  are  met  b_y 
changes  and  conditions  unexpected.  This,  in  fiict,  is  one 
of  the  common  mitigations  even  of  a  selfish  \nd  self- 
directed  life,  that  its  events  come  up  out  of  the  unknown 
and  overtake  the  subject,  as  discoveries  he  could  not  shun, 
or  anticipate.  Evil  itself  is  far  less  evil,  even  to  the 
worldly  man,  that  it  comes  by  surprises.  Were  the 
scenes  of  necessary  bitterness,  wrong,  trial,  disappointment, 
self-accusation,  every  such  man  has  to  pass  through  in  hia 
life,  distinctly  set  before  him  at  the  beginning,  how  forbid- 
ding generally,  and  how  dismal  the  prospect.  We  say, 
therefore,  how  frequently,  "  I  could  not  have  endured  these 
distasteful,  painful  years,  these  emptinesses,  these  trials 
Riid  torments  that  Lave  rent  me,  one  after  another,  if  I  had 
definitely  known  beforehand  what  kind  of  lot  was  before 
rne."  A  nd  yet,  how  poor  a  comfort  is  it  to  such  pains  and 
disasters  that  they  overtook  the  sufferer  as  surprises  and 
lion-ows  not  set  down  beforehand  in  tue  self-appointed 
programme  of  life.      How  different,    how  inspiring  and 


i8  EVERY    MAN'S    LIFE 

niagniiicent,  instead,  to  live,  bj^  lioly  consent,  a  life  all  dig 
coveiy ;  to  see  it  unfolding,  moment  by  moment,  a  plat 
of  God,  our  own  life-plan  conceived  in  his  paternal 
lo've ;  each  event,  incident,  experience,  whether  bright  or 
dark,  having  its  mission  fi'om  him,  and  revealing,  either 
mm  cr  in  its  future  issues,  the  magnificence  of  his  favor- 
ing counsel;  to  be  sure,  in  the  dark  day,  of  a  light  that 
will  follow,  that  loss  will  terminate  in  gain,  that  trial  will 
issue  in  rest,  doubt  in  satisfaction,  suffering  in  patience, 
patience  in  purity,  and  all  in  a  consummation  of  greatnes? 
and  dignity  that  even  God  will  look  on  with  a  smile. 
How  magnificent,  how  strong  in  its  repose,  how  full  of 
rest  is  such  a  kind  of  life !  Call  it  human  still,  decry  it, 
let  it  down  by  whatever  diminutives  can  be  invented,  still 
it  is  great;  a  charge  which  ought  even  to  inspire  a  dull 
minded  man  with  energy  and  holy  enthusiasm. 

But,  the  inquiry  will  be  made,  supposing  all  this  to  be 
true,  in  the  manner  stated,  how  can  we  ever  get  hold  of 
this  life-plan  God  has  made  for  us,  or  find  our  way  into  it? 
Here,  to  many  if  not  all,  will  be  the  main  stress  of  doubt 
and  practical  suspense. 

Observe,  then,  first  of  all,  some  negatives  that  are  im 
portant  and  must  be  avoided.  They  are  these : — 
I  You  will  never  come  into  God's  plan,  if  you  study  siri- 
jfjlarity ;  for,  if  God  has  a  design  or  plan  for  every  man's 
life,  then  it  is  exactly  appropriate  to  his  nature;  and,  as 
every  man's  nature  is  singular  and  peculiar  to  himself, — aa 
peculiar  as  his  face  or  look, — then  it  follows  that  God  will 
load  every  man  nito  a  singular,  original  and  peculiar  life, 
without  any  study  of  singularity  on  his  part.  Let  him 
seek  to  be  just  what  God  will  have  him,  and  the  ialcnis 


A     P  L  -V  N     O  F     G  O  D  .  IS 

the  duties  and  circumstances  of  liis  life  will  require  liiin 
t()  be,  and  then  he  will  be  just  peculiar  enough.  He  wilJ 
have  a  life  of  his  own ;  a  life  that  is  naturally  and,  there 
fo"*e,  healthily  peculiar;  a  simple,  unaffected,  unambitioua 
iilb,  whose  plan  is  not  in  himself,  but  in  God. 

.As  little  will  he  seek  to  copy  the  life  of  another.  No 
man  is  ever  called  to  be  another.  God  has  as  many  plans  : 
for  men  as  he  bas  men;  and,  therefore,  he  never  requires  ; 
them  to  measure  their  life  exactly  by  any  other  life.  We 
are  not  to  recjuire  it  of  ourselves  to  have  the  precise  feel- 
ings, or  exercises,  or  do  the  works,  or  pass  through  the 
trials  of  other  men ;  for  God  will  handle  us  according  to 
what  we  are,  and  not  according  to  what  other  men  are. 
And  whoever  undertakes  to  be  exercised  by  any  given 
fashion,  or  to  be  any  given  character,  such  as  he  knows  oi 
has  read  of,  will  find  it  impossible,  even  as  it  is  to  make 
himself  another  nature.  God's  plan  must  hold  and  we 
must  seek  no  other.  To  strain  after  something  new  and 
peculiar  is  fantastic  and  weak,  and  is  also  as  nearly  wicked 
as  that  kind  of  weakness  can  be.  To  be  a  copyist,  work- 
ing at  the  reproduction  of  a  human  model,  is  to  have  no 
faith  in  one's  significance,  to  judge  that  God  means  nothing 
in  his  particular  life,  but  only  in  the  life  of  some  other 
man.  Submitting  himself,  in  this  manner,  to  the  fixed 
opinion  that  his  life  means  nothing,  and  that  nothing  is  left 
foi'  him  but  to  borrow  or  beg  a  life-plan  fi'om  some  other 
man,  what  can  the  copyist  become  but  an  affectation  or  a 
dull  imposture. 

In  this  view  also,  you  are  never  to  complain  of  youi  | 
birth,  your  training,  j'-our  employments,  your  hardships,! 
never  to  fancy  that  you  could  be  something  if  only  you  had  I 
a  different  lot  and  sphere  assigned  you.     God  understaui.'j' 


20  EVERY    man's    LIFE 

his  own  plan,  and  he  knows  what  you  want  a  grcai 
deal  better  than  you  do.  The  very  things  that  you  mc^sl 
deprecate,  as  fatal  Hmitatioiis  or  obstructions,  are  probably 
what  you  most  want.  What  you  call  hindrances,  obstacles, 
discouragements,  are  probably  God's  opportunities;  and 
it  is  nothing  new  that  the  patient  should  dislike  his  medl- 
eiues,  or  any  certain  proof  that  they  are  poisons.  No !  a 
truce  to  all  such  impatience !  Choke  that  devilish  envy 
which  gnaws  at  your  heart,  because  you  are  not  in  the 
same  lot  with  others ;  bring  down  j^our  soul,  or,  rather, 
bring  it  up  to  receive  God's  will  and  do  his  work,  in  your 
lot,  in  your  sphere,  under  your  cloud  of  obscurity,  against 
your  temptations ;  and  then  you  shall  find  that  your  con- 
dition is  never  opposed  to  your  good,  but  really  consistent 
with  it.  Hence  it  was  that  an  apostle  required  his  converts 
to  abide  each  one  in  that  calling  wherein  he  was  called ;  to 
fill  his  place  till  he  opens  a  way,  by  filling  it,  to  some 
otlier ;  the  bondman  to  fill  his  house  of  bondage  with  love 
and  duty,  the  laborer  to  labor,  the  woman  to  be  a  woman, 
the  men  to  show  themselves  men, — all  to  acknowledge 
God's  hand  in  their  lot,  and  seek  to  cooperate  with  that 
good  design  which  he  most  assuredly  cherishes  for  them. 

Another  frequent  mistake  to  be  carefully  avoided  is  that, 

while  you  surrender  and  renounce  all  thought  of  making 

up  a  plan,  or  choosing  out  a  plan,  for  yourself,  as  one  thai 

I  you  set  by  your  own  will,  you  also  give  up  the  hope  or 

I  expectation  that  God  will  set  you  in  any  scheme  of  lifi>, 

B  where  the  whole  course  of  it  will  be  known,  or  set  do  i\  n 

!  befurehaud.     If  you  go  to  him  to  be  guided,  he  will  guide 

y^ou ;  but  he  will  not  comfort  your  distrust,  or  half  trus; 

of  him,  by  showing  you  the  chart  of  all  his  purposes  con- 

ueruing  you.     He  will  only  show  you  into  a  way  wter(\ 


A    PLAN    OF    GOD.  23 

if  yoii  go  clieerfully  and  trustfully  forward,  be  will  bIioti 
yoa  on  still  further.  No  contract  will  be  inado  witb  you, 
save  that  be  engages,  if  you  trust  bim,  to  lead  you  into 
tbe  best  tbings.  all  tbe  way  tbrougb.  And,  .f  tbey  are 
])etter  tban  you  can  eitber  ask  or  tbink  beforeband,  tbey 
will  be  none  tbe  worse  for  tbat. 

But  we  must  not  stop  in  negatives.  How,  tben,  or  by 
wbat  more  positive  directions  can  a  man,  wlio  really  desirea 
to  do  it,  come  into  tbe  plan  God  lays  foi  nim,  so  as  to  liv(j 
it  and  rationall}^  believe  tbat  be  does?  You  are  on  tbe 
point  of  cboosing,  it  may  be,  tbis  or  tbat  calling,  warning 
to  know  where  duty  lies  and  wbat  tbe  course  God  himself 
would  have  you  take.  Beginning  at  a  point  most  remote, 
and  where  tbe  generality  of  truth  is  widest. 

Consider  (1,)  tbe  character  of  God,  and  you  will  draw  a 
large  deduction  from  that;  for,  all  tbat  God  designs  for 
you  will  be  in  harmony  witb  his  character.  He  is  a  being 
infinitely  good,  just,  true.  Therefore,  you  are  to  know 
tbat  be  can  not  really  seek  any  thing  contrary  to  tbis  in 
you.  You  may  make  yourselves  contrary,  in  every  attri- 
bute of  character,  to  God ;  but  he  never  made  you  to  be- 
come any  thing  different  from,  or  unworthy  of,  himself, 
A  good  being  could  not  make  another  to  be  a  bad  being, 
as  tbe  proper  issue  and  desired  end  of  bis  existence;  least 
of  all  could  one  infinitely  good.  A  great  many  emplc»y- 
mcnts  or  callings  are,  by  these  first  principles,  forever  cut 
off.  No  thought  is  permitted  you,  even  for  a  moment,  of  I 
any  work  or  callings  tbat  does  not  represent  tbe  industry, 
justice,  truth,  beneficence,  mercy  of  God. 

(2.)  Consider  your  relation  to  him  as  a  creature.     All 
created  wills  have  their  natural  center  and  rest  in  God' 
will.      In  bim  they  all  come  into  a  play  of  harmony,  and 


22  EVERY    man's    life 

the  proper  liarmony  of  being  is  possible  only  m  this  way. 
Thus,  you  know  that  you  are  called  to  have  a  will  perfeeth 
haraionized  with  God's  and  rested  in  his,  and  that  gives 
you  a  large  insight  into  what  you  are  to  be,  or  what  is  the 
real  end  of  yi)ur  being.  In  fict,  nine-tenths  of  your  par- 
ticular duties  may  be  settled,  at  once,  by  a  simple  refenmce. 
m  this  manner  to  what  God  wills. 

(3.)  You  have  a  conscience,  which  is  given  to  be  an  in- 
terpreter of  his  will  and  tLus  of  your  duty,  and,  in  both, 
of  what  you  are  to  become. 

(4.)  God's  law  and  his  written  Word  are  guides  to 
present  duty,  which,  if  faithfully  accepted,  will  help  to  set 
you  in  accordance  with  the  mind  of  God  and  the  plan  he 
has  laid  for  you.  "  I  am  a  stranger  in  the  earth,"  said  one, 
"  hide  not  thy  commandments  from  me ;  "  knowing  that 
God's  commandments  would  give  him  a  clue  to  the  true 
meaning  and  business  of  his  life. 

(5.)  Be  an  observer  of  Providence  ;  for  God  is  showing 
you  ever,  by  the  way  in  which  he  leads  you,  whither  he 
means  to  lead.  Study  your  trials,  your- talents,  the  world's 
wants,  and  stand  ready  to  serve  God  now,  in  whatever  he 
brings  to  your  hand. 

Again  (6,)  consult  your  friends,  and  especially  those  who 
are  most  in  the  teaching  of  God.  They  know  your  talents 
and  personal  qualifications  better,  in  some  respects,  than 
you  do  yourself.  Ask  their  judgment  of  you  and  of  the 
8])heres  and  works  to  which  you  are  best  adapted. 

Once  more  (7,)  go  to  God  himself,  and  ask  for  the  calling 
of  God ;  for,  as  certainly  as  he  has  a  plan  or  calling  for 
you,  he  will  somehow  guide  you  into  it.  And  this  is  the 
proper  office  and  work  of  his  Spirit.  By  this  private 
teaehing  he  can  show  us,  and  will,  into  the  very  plan  that 


APLANOFGOD  23 

IS  set  for  us.  And  this  is  the  significance  of  what  is  })re> 
Bcribed  as  our  duty,  viz.,  living  and  walking  in  the  Spirit; 
for  the  Spirit  of  God  is  a  kind  of  universal  presence,  or 
inspiration,  in  the  world's  bosom;  an  unfailing  inner  light, 
which  if  we  accept  and  live  in,  we  are  guided  thereby  into 
a  consenting  choice,  so  that  what  God  wills  for  ns  we  also 
will  for  ourselves, — settling  into  it  as  the  needle  to  thn 
pole.  By  this  hidden  union  with  God,  or  intercourse  with 
him,  we  get  a  wisdom  or  insight  deeper  than  we  know 
ourselves;  a  sympathy,  a  oneness  with  the  Divine  will 
and  love.  We  go  into  the  very  plan  of  God  for  us,  and 
are  led  along  in  it  by  him,  consenting,  cooperating, 
answering  to  him,  we  know  not  how,  and  working  out, 
with  nicest  exactness,  that  good  end  for  which  his  unseen 
counsel  girded  us  and  sent  us  into  the  world.  In  this 
manner,  not  neglecting  the  other  methods  just  named,  but 
gathering  in  all  their  separate  lights,  to  be  interpreted  in 
the  higher  light  of  the  Spirit,  we  can  never  be  gi-eatly  at 
a  loss  to  find  our  way  into  God's  counsel  and  plan.  The 
duties  of  the  present  moment  we  shall  meet  as  they  rise, 
and- these  will  open  a  gate  into  the  next,  and  we  shall  thus 
pass  on,  trustfully  and  securely,  almost  never  in  doubt  as 
to  what  God  calls  us  to  do. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  you  have  followed  me,  in 
such  a  subject  as  this,  without  encountering  questions  froro 
within  that  are  piercing.  It  has  put  you  on  reflection;  it 
has  set  you  to  the  inquirj^,  what  you  have  been  doing  and 
becoming  thus  far  in  your  course,  and  what  you  are  here- 
after to  be  ?  Ten,  twenty,  fifty,  seventy  years  ago,  yon 
came  into  this  living  world,  and  began  to  breathe  thi^ 
mortal  air.     The  guardian  angel  that  came  to  take  change 


24  EVERY    man's    life 

of  you  sai'1,  "To  this  end  is  lie  born,  for  this  cause  is  hi 
Lomo  into  the  world."  Or,  if  this  be  a  Jewish  fancy,  Go<l 
said  the  same  himself.  He  had  a  definite  plan  for  you,  a 
good  end  settled  and  cherished  for  you  in  his  heart.  Thia 
it  was  that  gave  a  meaning  and  a  glory  to  your  life.  Apail 
fiom  this,  it  was  not,  in  his  view,  life  for  you  to  live;  it 
was  accident,  frustration,  death.  What  now,  0  soul,  hast 
thou  done?  what  progress  hast  thou  made?  how  much  of 
the  blessed  life-plan  of  thy  Father  hast  thou  executed? 
How  far  on  thy  way  art  thou  to  the  good,  best  end  thy 
God  has  designed  for  thee  ? 

Do  I  hear  thy  soul  confessing,  with  a  suppressed  sob 

within  thee,  that,  up  to  this  time,  thou  hast  never  sought 

i  God's  chosen  plan  at  all.     Hast  thou,  even  to  this  hour, 

land  during  so  many  years,  been  followmg  a  way  and  a 

rplan  of  thine  own,  regardless,  hitherto,  of  all  God's  pur- 

i poses  in  thee?     Well,  if  it  be  so,  what  hast  thou  gotten? 

f  How  does  thy  plan  work  ?     Does  it  bring  thee  peace,  con 

Uent,  dignity  of  aim  and  feeling,  purity,  rest;  or,  does  il 

,  pkmge  thee  into  mires  of  disturbance,  scorch  thee  in  flames 

of  passion,  worry  thee  with  cares,  burden  thee  with  bitter 

reflections,  cross  thee,  disappoint,  sadden,  sour  thee  ?    And 

what  are  thy  prospects  ?  what  is  the  issue  to  come  ?    Aftei 

thou  hast  worked  out  this  hard  plan  of  thine  own,  will  it 

come  to  a  good  end?     Hast  thou  courage  now  to  go  on 

oud  work  it  through? 

Perhaps  you  may  be  entc-ftaining  yourself,  for  the  time, 

v.'ith  a  notion  of  your  prosperity,  counting  yourself  happy 

in  |>ast  successes,  and  counting  on  greater  successes  to  come. 

,  Do  you  call  it,  then,  success,  that  you  are  getting  on  in  a 

•  plr,n  of  your  own  ?     There  can  not  be  a  greater  delusion 


A    PLAN     OF    GOD,  25 

You  set  up  a  pl.'in  that  is  not  God's,  and  rejoice  that  it 
Mcenis  io  prosper;  not  observing  that  you  are  just  as  much 
farther  off  from  God's  plan  for  you  and  from  all  true  wis- 
dom, as  you  seem  to  prosper  more.  2^  id  the  day  is  com- 
Lng  when  just  this  truth  will  be  reyealed  to  you,  as  thf- 
bitterest  pang  of  your  defeat  and  shame. 

Iso  matter  which  it  be,  prosperity  or  acknowledged  de- 
feat, the  case  is  much  the  same  in  one  as  in  the  other,  if 
you  stand  apart  from  God  and  his  counsel.  There  is| 
nothing  good  preparing  for  any  man  who  will  not  live  in  f 
God's  plan.  If  he  goes  a  prospecting  for  himself,  and  will 
not  apprehend  that  for  which  he  is  apprehended,  it  can  noi 
be  to  any  good  purpose. 

And  reall}^,  I  know  not  any  thing,  my  hearers,  more 
sad  and  painful  to  think  of,  to  a  soul  properly  enlightened 
by  reason  and  God's  truth,  than  so  many  years  of  Divine 
good  squandered  and  lost;  whole  years,  possibly  many 
years,  of  that  great  and  blessed  biography  which  God 
designed  for  you,  occupied  by  a  frivolous  and  foolish  in- 
vention of  your  own,  substituted  for  the  good  counsel  of 
God's  infinite  wisdom  and  love.     0,  let  the  past  suffice ! 

Young  man,  or  woman,  this  is  the  day  of  hope  to  you. 
All  your  best  opportunities  are  still  before  you.  Now, 
too,  you  are  laying  your  plans  for  the  future.  Wliy  not 
lay  them  in  God?  Who  has  planned  for  you  as  wisely 
and  faithfully  as  he?  Let  your  life  begin  with  him. 
Believe  that  you  are  girded  by  your  God  for  a  holy  and 
groat  calling.  Go  to  him  and  consecrate  your  life  to  him, 
knowing  assuredly  that  he  will  lead  you  into  just  that  life 
which  is  your  highest  honor  and  blessing. 

And  what  shall  I  say  to  the  older  man,  who  is  furthei 

3 


26  EVERY    man's    life 

on  111  liis  course  and  is  still  without  God  in  the  world  / 
The  beginning  of  wisdom,  my  friend,  you  have  yet  tc 
J  earn.  You  have  really  done  nothing,  as  yet,  that  you 
was  sent  into  the  world  to  do.  All  your  best  opportuni* 
ties,  too  are  gone  or  going  by.  The  best  end,  the  next 
best,  and  the  next  are  gone,  and  nothing  but  the  dregs  of 
opportunity  is  left.  And  still  Christ  calls  even  you, 
There  is  a  place  still  left  for  you ;  not  the  best  and  bright- 
est, but  an  humble  and  good  one.  To  this  you  are  called 
for  this  you  are  apprehended  of  Christ  Jesus  still.  O, 
jome,  repent  of  your  dusty  and  dull  and  weary  way,  and 
take  the  call  that  is  offered. 

I  All  men,  living  without  God,  are  adventurers  out  upon 
^  jrod's  world,  in  neglect  of  him,  to  choose  their  own  course. 
Hence  the  sorrowful,  sad  looking  host  they  make.  O,  thai 
I  could  show  them  whence  their  bitterness,  their  di-yness, 
their  unutterable  sorrows,  come.  0,  that  I  could  silence. 
for  one  hour,  the  noisy  tumult  of  their  works,  and  get 
them  to  look  in  upon  that  better,  higher  life  of  fruitfulnesa 
and  blessing  to  which  their  God  has  appointed  them. 
Will  they  ever  see  it ?     Alas!  I  fear! 

Friends  of  God,  disciples  of  the  Son  of  God,  how  in- 
spiring and  magnificent  the  promise,  or  privilege  that  is 
offered  lie  re  to  you.  Does  it  still  encounter  only  unbelief 
ii)  your  heart?  does  it  seem  to  you  impossible  that  you 
can  ever  find  ^'■our  way  into  a  path  prepared  for  you  bj 
God,  and  be  led  along  in  it  by  his  mighty  counsel?  Let 
me  tell  you  a  secret.  It  requires  a  very  close,  well-kept 
lif .'  to  do  this ;  a  life  in  which  the  soul  can  have  confidence 
always  toward  God ;  a  life  which  allows  the  Spirit  always 
CO  abide  and  reign^  driven  away  by  no  afiront  of  selfishness 


ailanofgod.  27 

There  must  be  a  complete  renunciation  of  seL-will.  God 
and  religion  must  be  practicall}''  first;  and  the  testimony 
that  we  please  God  must  be  the  element  of  our  peace, 
And  such  a  disciple  I  have  never  known  who  did  not  have 
it  for  his  joy  that  God  was  leading  him  on,  shaping  his  life 
fur  him,  bringing  him  along  out  of  one  moment  into  the 
next,  year  by  year.  To  such  a  disciple,  there  is  nothing 
f  trained  or  difficult  in  saying  that  God's  plan  can  be  found, 
or  that  this  is  the  true  mode  and  privilege  of  life.  Noth- 
ing to  him  is  easier  or  more  natural.  He  knows  G  od  ever 
present,  feels  that  God  determines  all  things  for  him,  re- 
joices hi  the  confidence  that  the  everlasting  counsel  of  hit 
B'riend  is  shaping  every  turn  of  his  experience.  He  does 
net  go  hunting  after  this  confidence;  it  comes  to  him, 
abides  in  him,  fortifies  his  breast,  and  makes  his  existence 
itself  an  element  of  peace.  And  this,  my  brethren,  is  your 
privilege,  if  only  you  can  live  close  enough  to  have  tlio 
secret  of  the  Lord  with  you. 

Row  sacred,  how  strong  in  its  repose,  how  majestic,  how 
nearly  divine  is  a  life  thus  ordered!  The  simple  thought 
of  a  life  which  is  to  be  the  unfolding,  in  this  manner,  of  a 
Divine  plan,  is  too  beautiful,  too  captivating,  to  suffer  one 
indifferent  or  heedless  moment.  Living  in  this  manner, 
every  turn  of  your  experience  will  be  a  discovery  to  you 
cf  God,  every  change  a  token  of  his  Fatherly  counseh 
Y7hatever  obscurity,  darkness,  trial,  suffering  falls  upon  you : 
'/our  defeats,  losses,  injuries;  your  outward  state,  emphn*- 
m(int.,  relations ;  what  seems  hard,  unaccountable,  severe, 
or,  as  nature  might  say,  vexatious, — all  these  you  will  set^ 
are  parts  or  constitutive  elements  in  God's  beautiful  and 
gocd  d];iu  for  you,  and,  as  such,  are  to  be  acce])ted  with  s 


28  EVERY    man's    life 

riiiiile.  Trust  God!  have  an  implicit  trust  in  God,  and 
these  very  things  will  impart  the  highest  zest  to  life.  If 
you  were  in  your  own  will,  you  could  not  bear  them ;  and, 
if  you  fall  J  at  any  time,  into  your  own  will,  they  ivi\] 
)):eak  you  down.  But,  the  glory  of  your  condition,  as  a 
i-i'liristian,  is  that  you  are  in  the  mighty  and  good  will  of 
God.  Hence  it  was  that  Bunyan  called  his  hero  Great 
Heart;  for,  no  heart  can  be  weak  that  is  in  the  confidence 
of  God.  See  how  it  was  with  Paul :  counting  all  things 
but  loss  for  the  excellency  of  the  knowledge ;  enduring, 
with  godlike  patience,  unspeakable  sufferings;  casting 
e\firy  thing  behind  him,  and  following  on  to  apprehend 
that  for  wliich  he  was  apprehended.  He  had  a  great  and 
mighty  will,  but  no  self-will :  therefore,  he  was  strong,  a 
true  lion  of  the  faith.  Away,  then,  -with  all  feeble  com- 
plaints, all  meagre  and  mean  anxieties.  Take  your  dr  ly, 
and  be  strong  in  it,  as  God  will  make  you  strong.  The 
harder  it  is,  the  stronger,  in  fact,  you  will  be.  Under- 
stand, also,  that  the  great  question  here  is,  not  what  you 
will  get,  but  what  you  will  become.  The  greatest  wealth 
you  can  ever  get  will  be  in  yourself.  Take  your  burd(?ns, 
and  troubles,  and  losses,  and  wrongs,  if  come  they  must 
and  will,  as  your  opportunities,  knowing  that  God  has 
girded  you  for  greater  things  than  these.  0,  to  live  out 
.mch  a  life  as  God  appoints,  how  great  a  thing  it  isi — to 
lo  the  duties,  make  the  sacrifices,  hear  the  adversities, 
uL^ii-li  the  plan,  and  then  to  say,  with  Christ,  (who  of  an 
>nJl  be  able  ? )-  -"  It  is  finished !  " 


li 

THE   SPIRIT   IN   MAN. 

./oB  xxxii.  8. — ^'' But  there  is  a  spirit  in  man^  anA  th* 
inspiration  of  the  Almighty  giveth  them  understanding.^'' 

It  is  something  great  in  man,  as  the  speaker,  Elihu, 
conceives,  that  he  is  spirit,  and,  as  being  such,  is  capable 
of  being  inspired.  For  he  is  not,  as  some  commentators 
appear  to  suppose,  re-publishing  here,  the  historical  fact, 
that  the  Almighty  breathed  into  man,  at  the  first,  a  living 
understanding  soul ;  but,  speaking  in  the  present  tense,  he 
magnifies  man  as  being  able  to  be  inspired,  because  he  ifl 
spirit,  and  God  that  he  inspires  him. 

I  undertake  to  enlist  jou  here  in  a  range  of  contempla- 
tion exceedingly  remote  from  the  apprehension  of  most 
persons  in  our  time.  So  completely  occupied  are  the}* 
Tvith  the  humanitarian,  world-ward  relations  of  life,  that  ^ 
the  Grod-ward  relations  pass  unheeded,  and,  for  the  most 
part,  unrecognized.  Or,  if  they  sometimes  think  of  such 
relations,  it  is  only  in  the  sense  that  we  are  responsible  to 
God,  as  we  are  to  any  human  government,  for  what  \^e  do 
as  men,  not  in  the  sense  that  our  very  nature  has  itself  a 
God- ward  side,  being  related  constitutionally  to  hirn,  as 
plants  are  to  the  sun,  or  living  bodies  to  the  air  thov 
breathe.  That  we  may  duly  apprehend  a  truth  so  far  out 
of  the  way  of  our  times,  and  yet  so  necessary  to  any  fit 
conceptions  of  our  nature  and  life,  let  me  bespeak,  on  yoni 
partj  even  a  voluntary  and  compelled  attention. 


30  THE   sriKiT   in   man. 

M}^  subject  is,  the  spirit  in  man;  or  what  is  the  same,  the 
fa<!t  that  we  are,  as  being  s-joirit,  ^jer??ieaifc  a^id  inspirahlf 
by  the  Almighty. 

Tne  word  '■^spirit,''''  means  literally,  breath,  and  it  is  ap- 
plied to  the  soul,  not  merely  because  of  its  immateriality, 
but  for  the  additional  reason  that  the  Almighty  can  breathe 
himself  into  it  and  througu  it.  The  word  '■'■ir^piration,^' 
as  here  used,  denotes  this  act  of  inbreathing,  and  it  will 
serve  the  convenience  of  my  subject  to  use  it  in  this  mean- 
ing in  my  discourse ;  though  it  is  not  exactly  coincident 
with  the  more  common  meaning  attached  to  it,  when  we 
speak  of  the  inspiration  of  the  writei's  of  Scripture.  I 
certainly  need  not  apologize  for  the  use  of  a  term,  in,  at 
least,  one  of  its  Scripture  meanings.  I  only  notity  you  that 
any  one  is  inspired,  as  I  shall  here  speak,  who  is  breathed 
^  m,  visited  internally,  and  so,  all  infallibility  apart,  raised  in 
intelligence,  guided  in  choice,  convinced  of  sin,  upheld  in 
saffering,  empowered  to  victor}^  In  this  more  general 
sense,  Bezaleel  was  inspired  when  he  "  was  filled  with  tlui 
Spirit  of  God,  in  wisdom  and  in  understanding,  to  clevitHi 
cunning  works,  to  work  in  gold,  and  in  silver,  and  in  brass, 
and  in  cutting  of  stones,  to  set  them,  and  in  carving  of 
timber."  Any  one  is  inspired,  as  we  now  speak,  just  a.i 
far  as  he  is  raised  internally,  in  thought,  feeling,  perception, 
Oi  action,  by  a  Divine  movement  within.  In  the  capacity 
of  this,  he  is  called  an  inspirablc  creature,  and  has  this  for 
ore  of  his  highest  distinctions.  What  higher  distinction 
can  he  have,  thiin  .x  -apacity  for  l/od;  to  let  in  the  Divine 
nature,  to  entertain  the  eternal  spirit  witnessing  with  his 
spirit,  to  be  gifted  thus  with  understanding,  ennobled  in 
hnpuls'3.  raised  in  power,  and  this,  without  any  retrenchmeni 


THESPIRITINMAN.  31 

of  his  personal  freedom,  l)ut  so  as  even  to  intensify  his 
proper  individnality. 

Jnst  as  it  is  the  distinction  of  a  crystal,  that  it  is  trans- 
parent, able  to  let  the  Hi^ht  iijto  and  through  its  close  flinty 
body,  and  be  irradiated  by  it  in  the  whole  mass  of  its 
substance,  without  being  at  all  moi-e  or  less  distinctlj'^  a 
crystal,  so  it  is  the  grand  distinction  of  humanity  that  it 
is  made  permeable  by  the  divine  nature,  prepared  in  that 
manner  to  receive  and  entemple  the  Infinite  Spirit ;  to  be 
energized  by  him  and  filled  with  his  glory,  in  every  fac- 
ulty, feeling  and  power.  Our  accepted  doctrine  of  the 
Eloly  Spirit  really  implies  just  this,  that  we  are  made  capa-, 
ole  of  this  interior  presence  of  the  divine  nature ;  that,  as 
matter  is  open  to  the  free  access  and  unimpeded  passage  of 
the  electric  flash,  so  is  the  soul  open  to  the  subtle  motions 
of  the  Eternal  Spirit,  and  ready,  as  it  were,  to  be  the  vehicle 
of  God's  thought  and  action;  so  of  his  character  and  joy. 

As  to  the  manner  of  this  divine  presence,  or  working, 
we,  of  course,  know  nothing.  We  onl}^  know,  reverting 
to  comparisons  just  given,  that,  as  matter  conducts  elec- 
tricity, so  the  human  soul  becomes  a  aonductoji-of  the  di-_ 
/ine  will  and  sentiments.  Or  as  we  cannot  see  how  the 
crj  stal  receives  tlie  light,  or  how,  being  a  perfectly  opaque 
body  in  itself,  it  becomes  luminous  without  the  least 
change  in  its  own  organization,  so  here  we  can  understand 
that  the  human  soul,  or  spirit,  is  made  capable  of  the  di- 
vine spirit,without  any  loss  of  its  own  human  individuality; 
but,  the  manner  of  the  fact  is,  in  both  cases,  uninvestigable 
and  mysterious. 

The  Scri[)tures  use  a  great  variety  of  figures  to  represent 
this  truth,  'ind  give  us  a  vivil  practical  sense  of  it,  bul 


S2  THE     SPIRIT     IN     MAN. 

they  do  not  undertake  to  show  iis  the  mnnner.  The} 
compare  it  to  the  wind  that  bloweth  where  it  listetli  — ihon 
Ciinst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  and  whither  it  goeth. 
They  speak  of  it  as  teaching — he  shall  teach  you  all  things. 
Drawing^ — except  the  Father  which  hath  sent  me  draw 
him.  Quickening — it  is  the  spirit  that  quicken eth.  Beget 
ting  anew, — born  of  water  and  of  the  spirit.  Sealing^ — 
sealed  with  the  Holy  Spirit  of  promise.  Divelling  in  tJu 
soul, — the  Spirit  of  God  dwelleth  in  you.  Walking  in  it, — I 
I  will  walk  in  them.  Leading, — led  of  the  Spirit.  Strength- 
ening,— strengthened  with  might  by  thy  Spirit.  Witnessing 
reciprocally  with  us,— heavmg  witness  with  our  spirit.  By 
reason  of  a  certain  analogy  that  pertains  between  the  vfork? 
of  the  Spirit  in  lost  man,  and  the  working  of  the  life  prin- 
ciple in  bodies,  it  is  also  called,  comprehensively,  "  the  spirit 
of  life."  In  which,  however,  nothing  is  explained  to  na 
respecting  the  manner;  for  we  do  not  know,  at  all,  how 
the  life-principle  works,  we  only  know  its  effects;  that  it 
quickens  the  dead  matter,  organizes,  vivifies  and  conserve,: 
ir  by  its  presence,  and  that,  somehow,  the  matter,  witho^^t 
ceasing  at  all  to  be  matter,  obeys  it. 

Let  us  now  consider  what  and  how  much  it  siOTiifies 
that  we  are  spirit;  capable,  in  this  manner,  of  the  divine 
concourse.  In  this  point  of  view  it  is,  that  we  are  raised 
most  distinctly  above  all  other  forms  of  existence  known 
'X)  us.  When  it  is  declared  in  the  scripture,  that  the  Spir-t 
(•f  God  rnfjved  upon  the  waters  of  chaos,  it  is  not  meani 
that  he  was  inspiring  chaos,  but  only  that  he  was  actiag 
creativa^ly  in  it.  So  it  is  not  understood,  when  all  the 
host  of  heaveu  are  said  to  be  created  by  the  breath  of 
the  Almighty,  that  the  stars  arc  inspired  creatures;  much 
less,  that  the  brute  animals  are  inspired,  because  they  tire 


THE     SPIRIT    IN    MAN.  88 

said  to  live,  when  the  Ahnighty  sendeth  forth  his  Spirit 
The  will,  or  foi'ce  of  God,  can  act  omnipotently  on  all  cre- 
ated things,  as  things.  He  can  penetrate  all  central  fires 
and  dissolve,  or  annihilate,  every  most  secret  atom  of  the 
woricLs,  but  it  can  not  be  said  that  these  things  receive  him. 
Nothing  can  truly  receive  him  but  spirit,  lie  may  pass 
through  things  and  have  them  pliant  everywhere  to  hLs 
touch,  but  they  derive  nothing  from  him  that  is  personal 
to  him.  No  creature  can  truly  receive  him,  save  one  that 
is  constitutionally  related  to  him  in  tei-ms  that  permit 
correspondence ;  there  must  be  intelligence  offered  to  his 
intelligence,  sentiments  to  his  sentiments,  reason  to  his 
reason,  will  to  his  will,  personality  to  liis  person.  To  speak 
of  an  inspired  mountain,  or  planet,  or  breeze  of  air,  an  in- 
spired block,  or  an  inspired  brute,  has  even  a  sound  of 
irreverence.  Not  so  to  speak  of  an  inspired  man ;  for  man 
is  spirit,  a  nature  configured  to  God,  and  therefore  able  to 
receive  him.  And  by  this,  he  is  separated  from,  and  set 
above  all  other  of  God's  creatures,  and  shown  to  be  scaiKjely 
less  different  from  them  in  kind  than  the  Creator  himself 
True,  he  is  a  creature,  but  a  creature  how  gloriously  dis- 
tinguished .;  one  that  can  partake  the  Infinite  Creator  him- 
self, and  come  up  thus  into  the  range  of  his  principles, 
motives,  thoughts  and  powers.  Not  even  the  obedient 
worlds  of  heaven  can  so  receive  him.  Following  in  the 
track  of  his  will,  and  filling  even  immensity  with  their  stu- 
pendons  frame  of  order,  thej^  yet  have  nothing  fellow  to  God 
in  their  substance,  and  can  not,  therefore  do  what  the  hiim- 
blest  soul  is  able ;  can  not  receive  the  communication  of  God. 
They  can  be  shaken,  melted,  exploded,  annihilated  by  his 
will,  but  they  are  not  vast  enough,  or  high  enough  in  quaJ- 
ity  to  be  inspired  by  hirr.      Spirit  only  can  be  inspired.  ^— - 


34:  THE     SPIRIT     IN"    MAN". 

We  sometimes  undertake  to  magnify  the  dignity  of  man 
bv  dwelling  on  the  wonderful  achievements  of  his  intelli 
gence.  He  creates  and  uses  language,  makes  records  oi 
the  past,  enacts  laws,  builds  institutions,  climbs  the  heav- 
ens, searching  out  their  times  and  orbits,  penetrates  the- 
si.cret  affinities  and  counts  the  atoms  of  matter,  bridges 
the  sea  by  his  inventions,  commands  the  lightning  itself 
to  think  his  thoughts  and  run  upon  his  errands  in  the  ends 
Df  the  world, — none  but  a  stupendous  creature,  we  suppose, 
ind  rightly,  can  be  manifested  in  acts  of  intelligence  like 
these.  And  yei,  to  be  penetrated  and  lighted  up  fron: 
(vithin  by  the  mind  of  God,  to  have  the  understanding  ol 
things  unseen  by  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty,  in  one 
tvord,  to  be  spirit,  and  have  the  consciousness  even  of  God, 
as  being  irradiated  and  filled  with  his  divine  fullness ;  this, 
after  all,  is  the  distinction  that  makes  any  mere  show  of 
intelligence  quite  insignificant. 

We  sometimes  dwell  on  the  fact  of  the  moral  nature  in 
man,  conceiving  that  in  this,  he  is  seen  to  be,  most  of  all, 
exalted.  And  our  impression  is  right,  if  by  the  moral  we 
understand,  also,  the  spiritual  and  religious  nature,  as  we 
often  do.  But,  in  strict  propriety,  the  moral  nature  ia 
quite  another  and  vastly  inferior  thing,'  as  respects  the 
scale  of  its  dignity.  The  spiritual  is  even  as  much  higher 
than  the  moral,  as  the  moral  is  higher  than  the  animal. 
To  be  a  moral  being  is  to  have  a  sense  of  duty  and  a 
^»ower  of  choice  that  supports  and  justifies  responsibility 
rt  is  that  in  us  which  recognizes  the  supremacy  of  moral 
ideas  or  abstract  notions,  and  acknowledges  their  binding 
force,  as  laws  or  principles.  Animals,  for  example,  have 
a  certain  power  of  intelligence,  but  they  have  no  sense  of 
duty,  or  law;  that  is  a  point  quite  above  their  tier  oi 


THE     SPIRIT     IN     MAN".  36 

ciistence.  But  to  be  raised  in  ttie  manner  aliove  tlicm,  as 
being  simply  a  moral  creature,  is  by  no  means  any  princi 
pal  distinction  An  atheist  can  have  moral  ideas,  and, 
acting  on  the  plane  of  the  world  as  a  member  of  human 
soiicty,  can  feel  and  can  personally  honor  the  obligations 
of  principle.  But,  to  be  spirit,  or  to  have  a  spiritual  na 
tiire,  is  tc  be  practically  related  to  a  being  in  us  and  about 
us,  who  is  above  all  mere  abstractions,  or  principles ;  viz., 
to  the  person  of  God  Himself.  It  is  to  be  capable,  not  of 
duty  only,  or  of  sentiments  of  duty,  but  of  receiving  God, 
of  knowing  Him  within,  of  being  permeated,  filled,  enno- 
bled, glorified,  by  his  infinite  Spirit,  Ideas  can  not  walli 
in  us,  or  witness,  or  beget  anew,  or  seal;  but,  the  living 
God,  communicating  Himself  to  souls,  can  do  this  aod 
more — can  raise  them  to  his  own  plane  of  existence,  and 
make  them  partakers  with  him,  even  in  his  character  itseH 
And  here  it  is  that  humanity  culminates,  or  reveals  the 
summit  of  its  dignity ;  it  is,  in  being  spirit,  and,  as  such 
open  to  the  visitation  and  the  indwelling  power  of  God. 
This  it  is,  and  this  only,  that  makes  us  properly  religious 
beings.  Angelic  nature  can  not,  in  this  view,  be  higher. 
N"o  creature  being  can  excel  in  order  a  soul  so  configured  to 
God  as  to  be  inspirable  by  him;  able  to  receive  his  im- 
[;;  ilse,  fall  into  his  movement,  rest  in  his  ends,  and  be  finally 
perfected  in  the  eternity  of  his  joys. 

It  is  also  in  virtue  of  this  distinction  between  a  merely 
moral  nature  and  spirit,  that  redemption,  or  the  restoration 
from  evil  is  possible;  for  that  we  are  down,  under  evil,  can 
not  be  denied.  Were  there  no  other  way  for  us,  but  to 
act  on  ourselves,  and  bring  ourselves  out  of  our  disordei 
into  the  abstractions  of  law  and  duty,  our  case  were  utterly 
hopeless.     As  certainly  as  sin  exists,  we  are  in  it  forevei: 


o6'  TFE     SPIRIT     IN     MA  K. 

Were  iberc  no  divine  access  to  us,  no  capacity  of  inspira 
tion  in  us,  the  body  of  a  common  i-ock  could  as  well  ligh 
itself  up  hy  the  sun,  as  we  come  into  the  light  again  of 
irue  virtue,  assisted  only  by  the  abstract  piinciples,  or  light 
of  duty.  There  is  no  possibility  of  redemption,  or  spirit- 
ual restoration  for  us,  save  that,  as  being  open  to  the  in- 
breathing of  God,  we  may  so  be  impregnated  with  a  new 
power  of  life,  and,  by  force  of  a  divine  visitation  within^ 
be  regenerated  in  the  holiness  of  God.  All  which  is  de- 
scribed in  the  scripture  as  being  born  of  God.  And  whal 
a  height  of  almost  divinity  do  we  look  upon  in  such  a 
truth  as  that !  What  man  will  not  even  tremble,  as  in  awe 
of  himself,  when  he  contemplates,  in  this  word  of  scrip- 
ture, the  eternal  Spirit  of  God  coursing  through  the  secret 
cells  and  chambers  of  his  feeling,  turning  him  about  in  hia 
motions,  breatliing  in  his  thoughts,  and  calling  back  his 
wild  affections  to  a  common  center  wdth  His  own. 
/  Glance  a  moment  also,  at  this  point,  on  the  origin  and 
/  constituted  relation  of  our  human  nature,  as  spirit,  with  its 
I  author  and  creator.  In  the  original  scheme  of  existence, 
it  was  planned  that  man  should  be  complete,  and,  as  it 
were,  infinite  in  God,  by  reason  of  his  continual  participa- 
tion of  God.  And  this  is  the  true  normal  state  of  man. 
In  which  normal  state  he  was  to  be  a  continually  inspired 
creature,  conscious  always  of  God  as  of  himself,  actuated 
!)}'  the  divine  character,  exalted  by  the  divine  beatitude. 
'ihi«  accordingly,  is  the  true  idea  of  the  fall.  It  is  not 
Ihat  man  fell  away  from  certain  moral  notions,  or  laws, 
V  but  it  is  that  he  fell  away  from  the  personal  inhabitatiofi 
of  God,  lost  inspiration,  and  so  became  a  dark,  enslaved 
creature, — alienated,  as  the  apostle  says,  from  the  life  of 
of  God.     Still,  his  capacity  of  inspiration  is  not  absolutel;^ 


THE     SPIRIT     IN     MAN.  37 

gouc,  or  closed  up,  and  God  is  striving  ever  in  the  gospel 
to  regain  his  dominion  over  bim,  again  to  fill  him  as  a  ro 
newed  creature  with  his  Spirit.  Ar.d  when  he  is  trulj 
yielded  up  again  to  the  inspiration  of  God,  when  he  is 
born  of  the  Spirit,  then  he  is  so  far  restored  to  the  normal 
state;  from  which  he  fell;  made  conscious  again  of  Gcd, 
knowing  God  as  revealed  in  his  inmost  life,  by  a  knowl- 
edge that  is  immediate ;  filled  with  joy  and  peace,  fortified 
in  strength,  guided  by  the  motions  of  eternal  wisdom. 
This  is  the  real  significance,  as  we  just  now  saw,  of  Chris- 
tian regeneration.  It  is  not  that  the  subject  is  set  in  a  new 
relation  to  certain  abstract  laws,  tests,  obligations,  but  it 
is  that  he  is  brought  back  into  his  true  normal  relation  tc 
the  Eternal  Spirit  of  God,  and  begins  to  live,  as  he  was 
made  to  live,  an  inspired  life, — led  of  the  Spirit,  dwelt  in, 
walked  in  by  the  Spirit,  made  to  be  a  temple  for  the  in- 
habitation of  God,  as  he  was  originally  designed  to  be, 
Sanctification,  properly  regarded,  is,  accordingly,  nothing 
but  a  completed  inspiration  ;  a  bringing  of  every  thought 
into  captivity  to  the  divine  movement.  And  then,  if  we 
look  at  the  attributes  of  character  perfected,  how  superla- 
tive, how  evidently  divine  they  are — ^the  self-renunciation, 
the  patience,  the  fortitude  in  suffering,  the  courage  superioi 
to  death  and  all  torments  of  persecution,  the  repose,  the  joy. 
the  abounding  beneficence,  the  forgiveness  of  enemies,  the 
fidelity  to  God,  that  dies  sooner  than  renounce  Him — these 
are  the  results  and  characters,  by  which  the  inspired  life  ia 
distinguished.  Meantime  the  subject  of  this  grace  is  no 
way  taken  ofl'  from  his  proper  individualitj^,  by  the  state 
of  inspired  impulse  into  which  he  is  come,  but  he  appears 
rather  to  others,  and  also  seem.s  to  himself,  to  have  risen  to 
a  more  complete  and  potent  individuality  than  he  evei 

4 


88  T  H  E     S  P I  R I T     I  N     jM  A.  N . 

miew  before.  It  is  as  if  he  bad  just  here  discc  vered  him 
Belf  and  awaliened  to  the  consciousness  of  his  sovereignty 
over  all  things  round  him.  Knowing  that  God  worketh  in 
liim  to  will  and  to  do,  his  willing  and  doing  are  just  so  much 
the  more  energetic,  because  he  is  raised  in  such  a  degree, 
by  the  new  flood  of  movement  upon  which  he  is  now  em- 
barked. He  governs  himself  the  more  sublimely,  and,  as? 
it  were,  imperially,  that  he  is  crowned  as  a  king  by  the  in- 
s})iration  he  feels.  He  subdues  the  body,  tramples  pain 
and  scorn,  rides  over  death,  and  takes  a  reigning  attitude 
in  all  things  with  his  master ;  simply  because  the  individu 
ality  of  his  nature,  never  before  developed  under  the  bond- 
age of  his  fallen  state,  is  now  developed  by  bis  inopira- 
lion.  As  being  spirit,  he  could  never  be  developed,  save 
in  the  divine  atmosphere,  and,  therefore,  being  now  at 
aome  in  God  again,  he  discovers  at  once  what  it  is  to  be 
a  man. 
f  Observe  also,  in  some  particulars,  what  takes  place  in 
■  the  human  soul,  a  j  an  inspirable  nature,  when  it  is  practi 
cally  filled  and  operated  by  the  Spirit  of  God.  It  has 
now  that  higher  Spirit  witnessing  with  itself.  "Witness- 
ing with,"— there  is  a  glorious  and  blessed  concomitancy 
m  the  subject,  a  kind  of  double  sense  in  which  he  takes 
note,  both  of  God  and  of  himself  together,  and  is,  at  one 
and  the  same  moment,  conscious  of  both.  He  is  no  lon- 
ger a  simple  feather  of  humanity,  driven  about  by  the 
Sckle  winds  of  this  world's  changes,  but,  in  the  new  sense 
ae  has  of  a  composite  life,  in  wdiich  God  Himself  is  a  pre- 
siding force,  he  is  raised  into  a  glorious  equili])rii:  m  abov] 
himself,  and  set  in  rest  upon  the  rr  ck  of  GckI's  etei'nity. 
His  strength  is  immovable ;  indeec  be  is,  in  a  sense,  im- 
passible.    All  his  powers  and  talents  are  quickened  ti)  a 


THE     SPIRIT     IX     MAN.  39 

gl(  w.     Ilis  perceptions  are  clearetl,  bis  imagination  exalied 
and  hife  whole  horizon  within  is  gloriously  luminous. 

See  how  it  is  in  examples;  what  a  man  is  before  the  hol_y 
nsitation,  and  what  he  becomes  in  it.  The  man  Enoch 
walked  in  the  deep  mires  of  this  woiid,  as  little  superior 
to  them,  or  as  little  raised  above  them,  as  other  mea 
of  his  ungodly  times.  But,  when  the  testimony  came 
that  he  pleased  God,  when  the  internal  witness  of  God'a 
love  was  unfolded  in  his  consciousness,  his  affinities  were 
changed,  even  to  such  a  degree  that  the  earth  could  hold 
him  down  no  longer.  Joseph,  as  Joseph,  is  the  favored 
eon  of  his  father,  distinguished  by  a  certain  natural  grace.. 
and  the  wearing  of  a  particular  coat.  But  he  begins  U 
have  dreams,  and  then  a  power  to  interpret  dreams,  and 
God  is  with  him  in  both,  leading  him  on  to  a  great  and 
splendid  future,  and  finishing  a  glorious  beauty  in  his  char- 
acter, so  that  even  we  can  see  it  as  confidently  as  he  know^ 
it  himself.  Moses  passes  through  the  preparations  of  the 
scholar,  then  becomes  a  refugee  tending  sheep  on  the  back 
side  of  Horeb;  a  man  scarcely  more,  to  us,  than  if  he  had 
been  kept,  till  this  time,  in  his  mother's  basket  among  the 
rushes  of  the  Nile.  But  the  call  overtakes  him  and  the 
spirit  now  of  God's  own  might  enters  into  him.  He  be- 
comes, at  once,  a  prophet  and  a  commander,  the  Liberator 
and  Leader  and  Law-giver  of  his  people,  and  the  founder, 
m  that  manner,  of  a  history  that  foreshadows,  and  even 
prepares  a  language  for,  the  doctrines  of  Christ  and  the 
great  mystery  of  salvation  to  be  revealed  in  Christ,  after 
fifteen  centuries  have  passed  awny.  Peter,  again,  the  com- 
panion of  Jesus  and  the  hearer  of  his  word,  knew  less,  in 
fact,  of  Christ,  and  the  real  import  of  his  mission,  thac 
Moses  was  able  to  represert,  o^  anticipate,  ?n  the  forms  of 


40  THE     SPIRIT     IN     MAN". 

Qis  ritual.  He  even  seemed  to  imagine,  down  to  the  daj 
of  Pentecost  itself,  that  tbe  kingdom  of  Christ  was  explo 
ded  in  his  death.  But  when  his  dull  humanity  was  lighted 
up  by  the  advent  of  the  Spirit  on  that  da}^,  a  marvelous 
insight  lakes  him,  and  he  preaches  Christ  and  the  savin^t 
wonder  of  his  death  to  three  thousand  men,  as  strangely 
overtaken  with  another  sense  of  the  glorious  crucified  as 
hs.  That  was  Peter  as  a  man ;  this  is  Peter  the  rock,  on 
whom  God  is  building  his  Church.  So  the  man  Paul  ia 
going  to  Damascus,  full  of  learning,  and  exceedingly  m.ad 
with  Pharisaic  sanctit}^,  there  to  exterminate  the  hated  sect 
of  Jesus.  But  this  Paul  is  spirit,  and  behold  a  power 
breaks  into  him,  on  his  way,  and  a  voice  internal  calls  to 
aim,  by  which  he  is  immediately  become  another ;  himself, 
yet  still  another;  an  apostle  whose  inspiration  is  Chiist 
and  for  whom  he  is  ready  to  die.  Then  how  little,  how 
mad  with  a  man's  animosities ;  now  how  lofty  in  his  re- 
pose, how  mighty  in  his  action,  how  nearly  divine  in  hia 
character.  When  John,  the  apostle,  lands,  or  is  landed 
at  Patmos,  it  does  not  appear  that  he  carried  to  it  thoughts 
or  perceptions  that  were  higher,  or  more  far-reaching  than 
many  others  might  carry.  But  he  is  in  the  Spirit  on  the 
Lord's  day,  and  heaven  is  opened  within,  discovering  to 
him,  in  scenes  and  images  how  sublime,  the  successive 
chapters  of  all  the  future  ages  of  the  kingdom.  So  tiierc 
have,  in  all  ages,  been  prophetic  gifts,  intimations,  premo- 
nitions, dreams,  visions,  powers  of  healing,  gifts  of  under- 
fetanding,  discernings  of  spirits,  whenever  the  eternal  Spirit, 
in  soals,  lifts  them  above  their  merely  human  range,  and 
becomes  the  inhabiting  grace  of  their  pei'sonality.  He  en- 
riches them  with  wisdom,  fills  them  with  a  supernatural 
oonfidcnce  opens  resources  of  character,  and  shows  tlierg 


THE     SPIRIT     IN     MaN  4i 

to  the  world  in  the  grand  Jcoinonia  or  lellowsbip  of  hiy 
own  majestic  life.  We  see  tliem  girded  thns,  and  goins 
forth  to  subdue  kingdoms  and  conquer  the  world  to  Christ 
and  we  discover,  in  what  they  show  of  heavenly  fire  and 
brightness,  how  much  it  signifies  that  God  comes  into  .nerr 
or  can,  in  the  communication  of  himself.  Apart  from  God, 
they  are  low,  short-sighted,  earthly  and  weak;  but,  being 
spirit,  no  sooner  does  the  insj^iration  of  the  Almighty 
breathe  into  them,  than  they  become  powei'ful,  and  see 
afar,  and  shine  with  a  dignity  that  is  visibly  divine. 

But  we  do  not  really  conceive  the  height  of  this  subject, 
till  we  bring  into  view  the  place  it  holds  in  the  economy 
of  the  heavenly  state.  All  good  angels  and  glorified  men 
are  distinguished,  by  the  fact  that  they  are  now  filled  with 
a  complete  inspiration  from  the  fullness  of  Grod.  It  is  their 
spiritual  perfection  that  they  are  perfectly  inspired,  so  that 
their  whole  action  is  in  the  divine  impulse.  All  sin,  all 
defect  and  spiritual  distemper  are  drunk  up  or  lost  in  the 
divine  perfection.  Their  complete  inspiration  is  their  dig- 
nity, their  strength,  the  spring  of  their  swiftness  and  joy; 
and  the  Alleluia  of  their  adoring  eternity — the  Lord  God 
Omnipotent  reigneth, — celebrates  a  reign  not  about  them 
in  things,  nor  in  some  third  heaven  above,  but  in  them,  in 
the  more  magnificent  heaven  of  their  own  exalted  powders 
and  thoughts,  and  the  glorified  passions  of  their  spirits 
Inspiration  is  their  heaven;  the  Lord  God  giveth  them 
ligit.  All  that  we  mean  by  the  heavenly  joy  and  perfec- 
tion is  nothing  but  the  restoration  and  the  everlasting 
bloom  of  that  high  capacity  for  God,  in  which  our  normal 
state  began,  and  of  which  that  first  state  was  only  the 
germ,  or  prophecy.  Man  finds  his  paradise,  when  he  ly 
imparadised  in  God.     It  is  not  that  he  is  squared  tocertai 

4* 


4:2  1  H  E     S  P I  R I T     I  N     M  A  N . 

dbstractioos,  or  perfected  in  Lis  moial  couformity  to  ce? 
tain  impersonal  laws;  but  it  is  that  be  is  filled  with  ch( 
Bublinie  personality  of  God,   and  forever  exalted  by  his 
inspirations,  moving  in  the  divine  movement,  rested  on 
Die  di  vine  center,  blessed  in  the  divme  beatitude. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  is  called  hell,  in  th"e  scripture, 
is  a  world  of  misery,  constituted  by  the  complete  absence 
of  Grod.  It  is  outer  darkness,  because  it  is  that  night  of 
the  mind,  which  overtalves  it  when  it  strays  from  God  and 
bis  light.  To  be  severed  eternally  from  God's  hispirationg 
is  enough,  as  we  are  constituted,  to  seal  our  complete  misery. 
No  matter  whether  it  be  that  our  capacity  of  inspiration 
is  extinct,  or  whether  it  continues,  gasping  after  the  inspir- 
ing breath  of  God  forever  shut  aw\ay.  One  is  the  misery 
of  deformity  and  weakness;  the  other  of  exile  and  want. 
One  is  that  of  a  soul  halved  in  its  capacity,  which  leaves 
the  other  half  unregulated  and  torn  by  disorders  which  it 
has  no  higher  nature  left  to  subordinate  and  quell;  the 
other  is  that  of  a  soul  in  full  capacity,  torn  by  disorders 
equally  hopeless  and  struggling  with  immortal  want  beside. 

I  have  endeavored,  in  this  manner,  to  unfold,  as  I  was 
able,  the  real  import  of  the  spirit  in  man,  taken  as  a  na- 
ture capable  of  receiving  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty. 
This,  it  can  hardly  be  questioned,  is  the  greatest  of  all  dis- 
liir^tiono, — superior  to  free  will,  to  conscience,  to  reason, 
and  to  every  other  gift  or  faculty  of  human  nature.  An 
important  light  is  shed  by  this  great  truth  on  many  points 
that  meet  us  in  the  facts  of  human  life  and  religious 
experience. 

1.  It  is  a  singular  and  somewhat  curious  confirmation 
pf  what  I  have  been  saying,  that  poets  and  orators  hav*' 


THE     SPIRIT     IN     MAN.  43 

been  so  ready,  in  all  ages  of  the  world,  to  invoke  mspira 
hions.  It  is  not  a  mere  rhetorical  flonrish  of  trumpets  as 
the  critics  appear  to  suppose.  It  is  because  they  are  made 
to  be  inspired.  What  they  ask  for,  whether  they  know  it 
01  not,  is  suggested  by  native  affinities  that  crave  a  state  of 
inspiration.  They  really  want  to  be  exalted  above  theni- 
selves,  and  speak  from  a  higher  point  as  being  divinely 
em.powered.  Hence  their  invocations  of  the  Muses,  and 
Apollo,  and  Mars,  of  seraphim  and  of  Christ.  They  want 
some  deific  impulse.  A  something  in  their  nature  lifts 
Ihem  up  to  this.  And  the  same  is  in  us  all.  No  man  has 
any  satisfaction  in  himself,  simply  as  a  person  acting  from 
ais  own  center.  He  dwindles  painfully  in  this  manner 
and  becomes  a  mere  dry  point,  position  without  magnitude. 
We  never  come  into  the  sense  of  magnitude  till  we  receive 
G-od's  measures  in  our  feeling  and  rise  to  an  attitude  ex- 
alted by  the  consciousness  of  God. 

2.  We  discover  in  this  subject  what  is  the  true  ground 
and  the  rational  significance  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  as  advanced  in  the  gospels.  It  is  not  simply  that 
sin  has  made  a  necessity  for  the  divine  nature  to  do  some- 
thing new,  but  rather  that  sin  had  abolished  something 
old,  which  needs  to  be  restored.  The  doctrine  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  is  grounded  in  the  primordial  nature  of  all  spiritual 
beings.  They  are  made,  as  we  have  said,  to  be  divinely 
inhabited,  made  to  live  in  eternal  inspiration.  The  doc 
trine  of  the  Holy  Spirit  pertains  to  all  created  spirit  in  ah- 
worlds,  only  with  modifications  adapted  to  their  state.  To 
be  in  the  Spirit  is  their  noimal  condition,  their  conserving 
law,  their  light,  and  strength,  and  glory.  And  therefore, 
when  they  sin,  falling  away  from  God's  Spirit  and  drop- 
ping into  the  daikness  of  mere  self-hood,  there  can,  of 


44  THE    SPIRIT    IN     MAN. 

coarse,  be  no  recovery,  till  tlie  eternal  Spirit  is  re-installed 
in  their  nature.  They  require  to  be  regenerated,  born  of 
tlie  Spirit,  whicli  only  means  that  the  lost  inspiration  is 
now  restored.  Accordingly,  the  question  so  often  mooted, 
whether  men  bave  power  to  regenerate  themselves,  is  sceij 
to  bo  idle  and  even  senseless;  for  the  plain  reason  that  be^ 
ing  regeiierated  is  the  same  thing  as  having  inspiration; 
that  is,  being  in  the  divine  impulse  and  order.  The  pre* 
else  thing  needed  is  to  be  raised  out  of  the  separated,  self- 
centered,  evil  state  into  the  inspired  state,  and  the  regula- 
tive order  of  God's  own  movement.  Are  we  then  going 
to  regenerate  ourselves,  going  to  inspire  ourselves?  If 
1*.  were  a  merely  moral  change,  a  change  before  the  mind's 
own  abstractions,  ideas,  or  principles,  it  would  not  be  plainl_) 
absurd  to  think  it;  but,  when  it  is  a  renewal  that  even  con- 
sists in  the  inbreathing  of  God's  Spirit,  and  the  being  in 
his  impulse,  what  Scoagal  appropriately  calls  "The  Life 
of  God  in  the  Soul  of  Man,"  how  shall  it  even  be  imagined 
that  we  can  pass  the  change  upon  ourselves?  And  yet 
how  simple  it  is!  How  much  easier,  in  fact,  than  to  drag 
ourselves  into  good  of  any  kind.  Open  your  whole  na- 
ture to  God,  oft'er  yourselves  in  the  spirit  of  contrition  and 
of  a  real,  unquestioning  faith,  to  the  occupancy  of  God, 
and  the  light  will  not  more  certainly  break  into  the  sky^ 
and  fill  the  horizon  with  day,  when  the  morning  sun  is 
risen.  Ask,  in  one  word,  and  ye  shall  receive,  seek  and  ye 
shall  find.  This  now  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
ft  is  not  some  new  idea  of  the  gospel.  It  is  an  advance 
of  the  Divine  love  to  recover  lost  eTcjund  and  brino;  back 
guilty  souls  among  men,  tc  that  which  is  the  original, 
everlasting  bliss  and  beaut_y  of  all  the  created  intclligencefl 
of  God. 


THE     SPIRIT     IN     MAN.  46 

3.  We  discover,  in  our  subject,  what  siguifieancetliere  is 
in  the  pride  which,  looks  on  spiritual  religion  as  a  humili- 
ation, or  deems  it  even  a  mortification  not  to  be  endured. 
A  mortification  for  this  tiny  speck  of  mortality  not  to  stay 
by  itself  in  its  own  littleness  and  frailty  !  A  mortification 
to  be  brought  up  into  the  sense  of  God's  own  greatness  1 
It  moj'tification  to  be  ennobled  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  t(. 
Lave  all  our  experience  modulated  and  glorified  by  him 
A  mortification  to  be  in  God's  wisdom,  to  be  established 
in  the  confidence  of  his  infinite  majesty,  to  think  with  him 
and  from  him,  to  move  in  the  glorious  order  of  his  perfect 
mind,  and  be  the  embodiment  eternally  of  his  impulse! 
0,  how  petty  and  weak  this  pride!  how  contemptible 
this  contempt !  And  yet,  to  be  a  Christian,  to  be  given  up 
to  the  Spirit  of  God  and  carefully  offered  to  his  holy 
guidixnce, — how  many  look  on  it  as  a  weakness,  a  loss  of 
dignit}^,  a  thing  which  only  the  tamer  and  less  manly 
souls  can  descend  to,  I  know  not  any  thing  else  that  ex- 
hibits the  folly  and  conceit  of  man  like  this  pride.  As 
if  it  were  some  loss  or  abatement  to  be  set  in  a  plane  with 
God,  to  have  the  inspiration  of  the  Almighty,  to  receive  a 
higher  nature  and  life  in  the  Eternal  Life  and  impulse  of 
God.  It  is  as  if  the  world  of  matter  were  to  be  ashamed 
of  the  sun,  and  shrink  with  inward  mortification  from  the 
state  of  day!  What  is  God  but  our  day,  the  sun  of  our 
eternity,  the  light  of  our  light,  without  whom,  as  the 
light  of  our  seeing,  the  universe  of  nature  were  a  mere 
phosphorescence  of  fate,  unintelligent  and  cold,  life  a 
driblet  of  vanity,  and  eternity  itself  a  protracted  and 
•amplified  nothingness?  O,  my  friends,  this  pride  you  have 
against  religion  v/ill  sometime  be  inverted,  and  you  wil! 
be  overwhelmed  by  the  discovery  of  its  true  merit.     You 


46  THE    SPIRIT    IN    MAN. 

have  read  those  powerful  words,  "shame  av.d  everlasting 
eoittempt."  And  what  do  you  think  is  their  meaning? 
It  is  to  look  on  the  saints  in  the  glory  of  their  resurrec*:  lon» 
and  see  them  visibly  perfected  and  ennobled  Ly  the  innabit' 
ation  of  God,  and  remember  that  such  was  the  honor  yo  j 
rejected:  to  wither  and  mentally  die  in  the  sense  of  your 
own  little  separated  speck  of  vanity,  when  surrounded 
with  holy  myriads,  gloriously  transfigured  by  the  light  of 
God  upon  them, — this  is  shame  and  everlasting  contempt. 
O,  that  I  could  help  you  to  understand,  as  then  you  will, 
how  great  a  thing  it  is  to  be  established  everlastingly 
in  the  inspired  state.  These  are  they  who  are  made  kings 
^nd  priests  unto  God;  the  kinsmen  of  angels,  the  compan- 
ions of  seraphim,  bright,  and  strong,  and  free,  because  the 
Eternal  Spirit  leads  them,  and  shines  forever,  in  glorious 
3vidence,  through  them.  The  Lord  God  giveth  them  light. 
Despised  of  man,  they  are  princes  now  at  God's  right 
hand.  Y7ise,  great,  mighty  and  majestic,  creatures  in  the 
range  of  divinity,  you  may  see,  in  their  glorious  beauty 
and  the  royal  confidence  of  their  eternity,  how  much  it 
signifies  to  be  a  spirit  capable  of  God  and  the  abiding 
grace  of  his  presence. 

Finally,  it  remains  to  conduct  you  forward  into  that 
view  of  the  great  future  of  Christianity  on  earth,  in  which 
much  of  the  practical  interest  of  our  subject  lies.  It  is  a 
great  misfortune,  as  I  view  it,  that  we  have  brought  down 
the  word  inspiration  to  a  use  so  narrow  and  technical;  as- 
^seiting  it  only  of  prophecy  and  other  scripture  writings 
and  carefully  excluding  from  it  all  participation,  by  oui- 
selves,  in  whatever  sense  it  might  be  taken.  We  cut  our- 
selves off",  in  this  manner,  from  any  ?omraon  terms  witb 
tlie  anointed  men  of  scripture   and    the  sc]-i])tuve    timesi 


THE    SPIRIT    IN    ¥:AN.  47 

They  belong  to  another  tier  of  existence,  A^itb  'Adiich  we 
3an  not  dare  to  claim  affinity ;  and  so  we  become  a  class 
unprivileged,  shut  down  to  a  kind  of  second-hand  life, 
feeding  on  their  words.  The  result  is  that  we  are  occu  )ied 
almost  wholly  with  second-hand  relations  to  God,  Oui 
views  of  life  are  low  and  earthly,  because  our  possibilities 
are  low.  And  then  we  complain  that  Christian  character 
grows  worldly,  and  loses  depth  and  tone,  as  if  it  were 
finally  going  to  quite  vanish  out  of  the  world ;  that  reli- 
gious convictions  grow  feeble ;  that  the  ministry  and  the 
preached  word  produce  no  longer  the  true  apostolic  efi'ects. 
As  if  any  thing  apostolic  in  power  could  remain,  when  no 
apostolic  faith  or  gi'ace  is  left  us;  when,  in  fact,  the  apostles 
and  all  scripture  writers  are  really  set  between  us  and  God 
to  fence  us  away,  not  before,  as  examples  to  help  us  on ; 
for  they,  we  are  told,  were  inspired,  which  we,  in  no  sense, 
can  be.  J^  nd  so,  being  shut  down  to  a  meaner  existence, 
there  is  no  relief  for  us  but  in  a  i'ccoil  against  inspiration 
itself,  even  that  of  the  Holy  Scriptures ;  for,  who  will  be- 
lieve, (how  many  are  beginning  to  ask  it,)  that  men  were 
inspired  long  ages  ago,  when  now  any  such  thing  ia 
incredible? 

There  is  yet  to  be  a  revision  of  this  whole  subject.  Not 
that  we  are  to  assert  or  claim  the  same  inspiration  with 
tilt  writers  of  scripture.  God  has  a  particular  kind  of 
inspiration  for  every  man,  just  according  to  what  he  is  and 
the  uses  he  will  make  of  him ;  for  the  tradesmen  Bezaleel 
as  truly  as  for  Moses.  He  will  dignify  every  right  calling 
by  being  joined  to  us  in  it;  for  there  is  nothing  given  ua 
to  do,  which  he  will  not  help  us  to  do  rightly  and  wisely, 
filling  us  with  a  lofty  and  fortified  consciousness  of  hia 
presence  with  us  in  it.     It  is  not  for  us  to  say,  beforchs^nd, 


48  THE    SPIKIT    IN     MAN. 

wLat  gifts,  or  what  kind  of  inspiration  God  will  bestow 
Enough  that  he  will  take  us  into  his  own  care,  and  woi'k 
his  own  counsel  in  us.  We  have  no  lisp  of  authority 
for  assuming  that  he  never  wants  another  book  of  scrip- 
ture written,  though  probably  enough  he  does  not.  Ha 
will  take  care  of  that :  onlj'  let  us  set  no  limits  to  the  Holy 
0:<e  of  Israel,  and  be  ready  to  admit  his  guidance,  and 
wait  to  be  his  qualified  instruments,  whether  in  work  or 
suffering,  whether  as  tradesmen,  or  merchants,  or  teachers, 
or  ministers,  or  prisoners,  or  domestics,  or  slaves. 

I  believe,  furthermore,  that  there  is  going,  finally,  to  be 
entered  into  the  world  a  more  general,  sj^stematic  and 
soundly  intellectual  conviction  respecting  all  these  secret 
relations  of  souls  to  God.  Whcii  we  have  been  out  into 
all  the  fields  of  science,  and  gotten  our  opinion  of  the 
scientific  order  by  which  God  works  in  matter,  and  the 
laws  immaterial  by  which  all  matter  is  swayed,  I  believe 
that  we  shall  turn  round  God-ward,  to  consider  what  om 
relations  may  be  on  that  side;  and  then  we  shall  not  only 
take  up  the  doctrine  of  the  Spirit  and  of  holy  inspiration, 
looking  no  more,  as  now,  after  some  mere  casual,  fitful, 
partially  fantastic,  visitations  of  what  we  call  the  Spirit, 
but  we  shall  discover  in  it  the  truth  of  a  grand,  universal, 
intelligent,  systematic,  abiding  inspiration,  and  the  whole 
human  race,  lifted  by  this  discovery,  will  fall  into  this  gift, 
knowing  that  in  God  is  the  only  divine  privilege  of  exist- 
ence. To  be  in  this  inspiration  will  be  nothing  extraordi 
nary  ncv/,  any  more  than  that  men  should  be  sober,  whicb 
out  of  it  they  are  not.  Without  something  like  this  break- 
ing into  the  world's  mind,  that  kingdom  which  is  righteous- 
ness, and  peace,  and  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  which  it  is 
promised  shall  finally  fill  the  earth,  can,  manifestly,  never 


THE    SPIRIT    IN    MAN.  49 

come,  These,  too,  are  tlie  last  days  of  the  promise ;  dnjg 
when  the  apostolic  grace,  instead  of  being  confined  to 
apostles,  and  shut  away  from  the  living,  is  to  bathe,  and 
fill,  and  glorify  itself  in  all  created  minds  on  earth. 

And  the  sooner,  brethren  and  friends,  we  begin  to  look 
for  this  the  better.  And  what  shall  we  do  sooner  tlian 
prepare  ourselves  for  the  grace  that  is  offered.  First,  be- 
lieve that  you  may  have  it,  and  may  live  in  this  abiding 
witness  and  participation  of  God's  Spirit.  Sacrifice  every 
tiling  cheerfully  and  calmly  for  this.  Esteem  it  no  forbid- 
ding sanctimony  to  be  holy.  Aspire  to  these  mjajestic 
honors,  by  a  life  rationally  set  to  do  God's  will  and  purified 
to  receive  it.  Live  as  with  God ;  and,  whatever  be  your 
calling,  pray  for  the  gift  that  will  perfectly  qualify  you  in 
it.  Let  his  tabernacle  so  be  set  up  in  you,  and  be  a  witness 
for  him,  in  that  manner,  of  the  day,  when  it  shall  be  said 
in  the  fullness  of  his  universal  light,  the  tabernacie  a' 
God  is  with  men. 


m. 

riGNITr   OF   HUMAN   NATURE   SHOWN   FROM    ITB   RUINS. 

EOMANS  iii.,  13-18. — "  Tlieir  throa',  is  an  open  sqmlchre, 
Kut/i  their  tongtbes  they  have  used  deceit ;  the  poison  of  asps  k 
udider  their  lips.  Whose  mouth  is  full  of  cursing  and  Mite"- 
ness.  Their  feet  are  swift  to  shed  blood.  Destruction  ana 
misery  are  in  their  ways.  And  the  way  of  peace  they  have 
act  known.     There  is  no  fear  of  Qod  before  their  eyes. 

A  MOST  dark  and  dismal  picture  of  humanity,  it  must 
be  admitted;  and  yet  it  has  two  sides  or  aspects.  In 
one  view,  it  is  the  picture  of  weakness,  wretchedness, 
phame  and  disgust ;  all  which  they  discover  in  it  who  most 
sturdily  resent  the  impeachment  of  it.  In  the  other,  il 
presents  a  being  higher  than  even  they  can  boast ;  a  fear- 
fully great  being;  great  in  his  evil  will,  his  demoniacal 
passions,  his  contempt  of  fear,  the  splendor  of  his  degra- 
dation, and  the  magnificence  of  his  woe. 

It  is  this  latter  view  of  the  picture  to  which,  at  the 
present  time,  I  propose  to  call  your  attention,  exhibiting, — 

The  dignity  of  man.,  as  revealed  by  the  ruin  he  makes  in  his 
fall  and  aposlacy  from  God. 

it  has  been  the  way  of  many,  in  our  time,  to  magnify 
humanity,  or  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  by  tracing  its 
capabilities  and  the  tokens  it  reveals  of  a  natural  affinity 
with  God  and  truth.  They  distinguish  lovely  instincts 
powers  and  properties  allied  to  God,  aspirations  reaching 


DIGNITY    JV    nUAIAN    NATURE.  51 

after  God;  many  virtues,  according  to  tbe  common  use  of 
that  term;  many  beautiful  and  graceful  charities;  and,  by 
such  kind  of  evidences,  or  proofs,  they  repel,  sometimes 
with  scorn,  wliat  they  call  the  libelous,  or  even  tbe  insult- 
ing doctrine  of  total  depravity.  And  this  they  do,  as  1 
will  add,  not  without  some  show  of  reason,  when  the  fact 
of  our  depravity  is  asserted  in  a  manner  tliat  excludes  the 
admissio;.  of  any  such  high  aspirations  and  amiable  pro- 
perties, or  virtues,  as  we  certainly  discover  in  human  con 
duct,  apart  from  any  gifts  and  graces  of  religion.  And  it 
must  be  admitted  that  some  teachers  have  given  occasion 
for  this  kind  of  offense ;  not  observing  the  compatibility 
of  great  aspirations  and  majestic  affinities  with  a  state  of 
deep  spiritual  thraldom;  assuming,  also,  with  as  little 
right,  the  want  of  all  appropriate  sensibilities  and  recep 
tivities  for  the  truth,  as  a  necessary  inference  from  the 
complete  destitution  of  holiness.  They  make  out,  in  this 
manner,  a  doctrine  of  human  depravity,  in  which  there  is 
no  proper  humanity  left. 

I  am  not  requii-ed  by  my  subject  to  settle  the  litigation 
between  these  two  extremes ;  one  of  which  makes  the  gos- 
pel unnecessary,  because  there  is  no  depravation  to  restore; 
and  the  other  of  which  makes  it  impossible,  because  thero 
is  nothing  left  to  which  any  holy  appeal  can  be  made ;  but 
I  undertake,  in  partial  disregard  of  both,  to  show  the  es- 
sential greatness  and  dignity  of  man  from  the  ruin  itself 
7,  hi.jh  he  becomes;  confident  of  this,  that  in  no  other 
print  of  view,  will  he  prove  the  spiritual  sublitiity  of  his 
nature  so  convincingly. 

Nor  is  it  any  thing  new,  or  a  turn  more  ingenious  than 
just,  that  we  undertake  to  raise  our  conceptions  of  bumiH 


62  DIGNIir    OF    HUMAN    NfiTURE, 

nature  in  this  mraiuer;  for  it  is  m  just  this  wny  that  wt 
are  accustomed  to  get  our  measures  and  form  our  concep- 
tions of  many  things; — of  the  power,  for  example,  of 
ancient  dj^nasties  and  the  magnificence  of  ancient  worka 
and  cities.  Fallmg  thus,  it  may  be,  on  patches  of  paved 
road  here  and  there,  on  lines  leading  out  divergently  from 
ancient  Eome,  uncovering  and  decyphering  the  mile-stones 
by  their  sides,  marked  with  postal  distances,  here  for 
Britain,  here  for  Germany,  here  for  Ephesus  and  Babylon, 
here  for  Brundusium,  the  port  of  the  Appian  Way,  and 
so  for  Egj^pt,  Numidia  and  the  provinces  of  the  sun ;  im- 
agining the  couriers  flying  back  and  forth,  bearing  the 
mandates  of  tlie  central  authority  to  so  many  distant  na- 
tions, followed  by  the  military  legions  trailing  on  to  exe- 
cute them ;  we  receive  an  impression  of  the  empire,  from 
these  scattered  vestiges,  which  almost  no  words  of  historic 
description  could  give  us.  So,  if  we  desire  to  form  some 
opinion  of  the  dynasty  of  the  Pharaohs,  of  whom  history 
gives  us  but  the  faintest  remembrances  and  obscurest  tra- 
ditions, we  have  only  to  look  on  the  monumental  mount- 
ains, piled  up  to  molder  on  the  silent  plain  of  Egypt,  and 
these  dumb  historians  in  stone  will  show  us  more  of  that 
vast  and  populous  empire,  measuring  by  the  amount  of  real- 
ized impression,  more  of  the  imperial  haughtiness  of  the 
monarchs,  more  of  the  servitude  of  their  people  and  of  the 
aptive  myriads  of  the  tributary  nations,  than  even  Hero- 
dotus and  Strabo,  history  and  geography,  together. 

The  same  is  true,  even  more  strikingly,  of  ancient 
cities.  Though  described  by  historians,  in  terms  of  defi- 
nite measurement,  with  their  great  structures  and  defenses 
and  the  royal  splendor  of  their  courts,  we  form  no  suffi- 
cient conception  of  their  grandeur,  till  we  lock  \ipon  theii 


SUOWN    FROM     ITS    RUINS.  5S 

ruins.  Even  tlic  eloquence  of  Iloraer  describing  tlie  glorji 
and  magnificence  of  Thebes,  the  vast  circuit  of  its  walls?, 
its  hundred  gates,  and  the  chariots  of  war  pouring  out  of 
all,  to  vanquish  and  hold  in  subjection  the  peoples  of  as 
many  lations,  yields  only  a  faint,  unimpressive  conception 
of  the  3ity ;  but,  to  pass  through  the  ruins  of  Karnac  and 
Luxor,  a  vast  desolation  of  temples  and  pillared  avenuea 
that  dwarf  all  the  present  structures  of  the  world,  solemn, 
silent  and  hoary,  covered  with  historic  sculptures  that  re 
late  the  conquest  of  kingdoms — a  journey  to  pass  through, 
a  ma.ze  in  which  even  comprehension  is  lost — this  reveals 
a  fit  conception  of  the  grandest  city  of  the  world  as  no 
words  could  describe  it.  Belield  and  judged  by  the  majesty 
of  its  ruins,  there  is  a  poetry  in  the  stones  surpassing  all 
majesty  of  song.  So,  when  the  prophet  Jonah,  endeavor- 
ing, as  he  best  can,  to  raise  some  adequate  opinion  of  the 
greatness  of  Nineveh,  declares  that  it  is  an  exceeding 
great  city,  of  three  days'  journey ;  and,  when  Nahum 
follows,  magnifying  its  splendor  in  terms  of  high  descrip- 
tion that  correspond ;  still,  so  ambiguous  and  faint  is  the 
impression  made,  that  many  were  doubting  whether,  after 
all,  "  the  exceeding  great  cit}^ "  was  any  thing  more  than 
a  vast  inclosure  of  gardens  and  ])asture  grounds  for  sheepj 
where  a  moderate  population  subsisted  under  the  protec- 
tion of  a  wall.  No  one  had  any  proper  conception  of  the 
city  till  just  now,  when  a  traveler  and  antiquary  digs  into 
the  tomb  where  it  lies,  opens  to  view,  at  points  many  miles 
asunder,  its  temples  and  palaces,  drags  out  the  heavy 
sculptures,  shows  the  inscriptions,  collects  the  tokens  of 
art  and  splendor,  and  says,  "  this  is  Nineveh,  the  '  exceedinj^- 
great  city,'"  and  then,  judging  of  its  extent  from  the  vasl 
and  glorious  ruin,  we  begin  to  have  some  fit  impressioi 


54  DIGNITY    OF    HUMAN    NATURE 

of  its  magnitude  and  splendor.  And  so  it  is  with 
Babylon,  Ephesus,  Tadmor  of  tlie  desert,  Baalbec  and  the 
nameless  cities  and  pyramids  of  the  extinct  American 
race.  All  great  ruins  are  but  a  name  for  greatness  in 
ruins,  and  we  see  the  magnitude  of  the  structure  in  that 
oi  the  ruin  made  by  it,  in  its  fall. 

So  it  is  with  man.  Our  most  veritable,  though  saddest, 
impressions  of  his  greatness,  as  a  creature,  we  shall  derive 
from  the  magnificent  ruin  he  displays.  In  that  ruin  we 
shall  distinguish  fallen  powders,  that  lie  as  broken  pillars 
on  the  ground ;  temples  of  beauty,  whose  scarred  and  shat- 
tered walls  still  indicate  their  ancient,  original  glory ;  sum- 
mits covered  with  broken  stones,  infested  by  asps,  where 
the  palaces  of  high  thought  and  great  aspiration  stood, 
and  righteous  courage  went  up  to  maintain  the  citadel  of 
the  mind, — all  a  ruin  now,  "archangel  ruined." 

And  exactly  this,  I  conceive,  is  the  legitimate  impres- 
sion of  the  scripture  representations  of  man,  as  apostate 
from  duty  and  God.  Thoughtfully  regarded,  all  exagger- 
ations and  contending  theories  apart,  it  is  as  if  they  were 
showing  us  the  original  dignity  of  man,  from  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  ruin  in  which  he  lies.  How  sublime  a  crea- 
ture must  that  be,  call  him  either  man  or  demon,  who  is 
able  to  confront  the  Almighty  and  tear  himself  away  from 
his  throne.  And,  as  if  to  forbid  our  taking  his  deep 
misery  and  shame  as  tokens  of  contempt,  .imagining  that 
a  creature  so  humiliated  is  inherently  weak  and  low,  the 
first  men  are  shown  us  living  out  a  thousand  years  of 
lustful  energy,  and  braving  the  Almighty  in  strong 
defiance  to  the  last.  "  The  earth  also  is  corrupt  before 
God,  and  the  earth  is  filled  with  violence."  We  l(;ok,  as 
it  were,  upon  a  race  of  Titans,  broken  loose  fromi  order 


SHOWN    FllOM    ITS  RUTN5.  55 

and  making  war  upon  God  and  each  other;  beholding,  in 
their  outward  force,  a  type  of  that  original  majesty  whicl 
pertains  to  the  moral  nature  of  a  being,  endowed  with  a 
self- determining  liberty,  capable  of  choices  against  God, 
and  thus  of  a  character  in  evil  that  shall  be  his  own.  They 
611  the  earth,  even  up  to  the  sky,  with  wrath  and  the  de- 
moniacal tumult  of  their  wrongs,  till  God  can  suffer  thorn 
no  longer,  sending  forth  his  flood  to  sweep  them  from  the 
earth.  So  of  the  remarkable  picture  given  by  Paul,  in  the 
first  chapter  of  the  epistle  to  the  Eomans.  In  one  view 
we  are  disgusted,  in  another  shocked,  doubting  whether  it 
presents  a  creature  most  foolish  and  vile  or  most  sublimely 
impious  and  wicked :  and  coming  out,  finally,  where  the 
chapter  ends — "  who  knowing  the  judgment  of  God  that 
they  which  commit  such  things  are  worthy  of  death,  not 
only  do  the  same  but  have  pleasure  in  them  that  do 
them" — there  to  confess  the  certain  greatness  of  a  being 
whose  audacity  is  so  nearly  infinite,  whose  adherence  to 
the  league  with  evil  is  maintained  with  a  pertinacity  so 
damnably  desperate  and  relentless.  And  the  picture  of  the 
text  corresponds,  yielding  no  impression  of  a  merely  feeble 
and  vile  creature,  but  of  a  creature  rather  most  terrible 
and  swift;  destructive,  fierce  and  fearless;  miserable  in  his 
greatness;  great  as  in  evil.  Their  throat  is  an  open  sepul- 
chre ;  with  their  tongues  they  have  used  deceit ;  the  poison 
of  asps  is  under  their  lips;  whose  mouth  is  full  of  cursino' 
and  bitterness ;  their  feet  are  swift  to  shed  blood.  Des- 
truction  and  misery  are  in  their  way;  and  the  way  of 
peace  have  they  not  known ;  there  is  no  fear  of  Go'  I  before 
llieii  eyes. 

But  we  come  to  the  rum  as  it  is,  and  we  look  u^on  li 


•56  DIGNITY    OF    HUMAN    NATURE 

with  oar  own  eyee,  to  receive  the  true,  original  impression 
for  ourselves. 

We  look,  first  of  all,  upon  tlie  false  religions  of  the 
world ;  pompc  us  and  costly  rites  transacted  before  croco- 
diles and  onions;  magnificent  temples  built  over  all  mon' 
keyisli  and  monstrous  creatures  carved  by  men's  bands; 
children  offered  up,  by  their  mothers,  in  fire,  or  in  water; 
kings  offered  on  the  altars,  by  their  people,  to  propitiate  a 
wooden  image;  gorgeous  palaces  and  trappings  of  bar- 
baric majesty,  studded  all  over  with  -beetles  in  gold,  or 
precious  stones,  to  serve  as  a  protection  against  pestilences, 
poisons  and  accidents.  I  can  not  fill  out  a  picture  that  so 
nearly  fills  the  world.  Doubtless  it  is  a  picture  of  ruin — 
yet  of  a  ruin  how  visibly  magnificent.  For,  how  high  a 
nature  must  that  be,  how  intensely  allied  to  what  is  divine, 
that  it  mast  prepare  such  pomps,  incur  such  sacrifices,  and 
can  elevate  such  trifles  of  imposture  to  a  place  of  rever- 
ence. If  we  say  that,  in  all  this,  it  is  feeling  after 
God  if  haply  it  may  find  him,  which  in  one  view  is  the 
truth,  then  how  inextinguishable  and  grand  are  those  re- 
ligious instincts  by  which  it  is  allied  to  the  holy,  the  infi- 
nite, the  eternal,  but  invisible  one. 

The  wars  of  the  world  yield  a  similar  impression.  What 
opinion  should  we  have  of  the  energy,  ferocity  and  fear- 
fal  passion  of  a  race  of  animals,  could  any  such  be  found, 
who  marshal  themselves  by  the  hundred  thousand,  march- 
ing across  kingdoms  and  deserts  to  fight,  and  strewing 
leagues  of  ground  with  a  covering  of  dead,  before  they 
yield  the  victory.  One  race  there  is  that  figure  in  these 
heroics  of  war,  in  a  small  way,  viz.,  the  tiny  race  of  ants 
whom  God  has  made  a  spectacle  to  mock  the  glory  and 
inaguificence  of  human  wars;  lest,  carried  away  oy  sc 


SHOWN    FROM    ITS    KUINS.  57 

taauy  brave  shows  and  b}'  the  applauses  of  the  drunken 
ages  of  the  world,  we  pass,  undiscovered,  the  meanness  and 
.littleness  of  that  selfish  ambition,  or  pride,  by  Vvdiich  hu- 
man wars  are  iustigated.  These  are  men  such  as  history, 
in  all  past  ages,  shows  them  to  be ;  swift  to  shed  blooc, 
swifter  than  the  tiger  race,  and  more  terrible.  Cities  and 
empires  are  swept  by  their  terrible  marches,  and  become 
a  desolation  in  their  path.  Destruction  and  misery  are  ii: 
their  ways — 0  what  destruction,  misery,  how  deep  and 
long !  And  what  shall  we  think  of  any  creature  of  God 
displayed  in  signs  like  these.  Plainly  enough  he  is  a  crea 
ture  in  ruins,  but  how  magnificent  a  creature !  Mean  as 
the  ant  in  his  passions,  but  erecting,  on  the  desolations  he 
makes,  thrones  of  honor  and  renown,  and  raising  himself 
into  the  attitude  of  a  god,  before  the  obsequious  ages  of 
mankind ;  for  who  of  us  can  live  content,  as  we  are  tem- 
pered, without  some  hero  to  admire  and  worship? 

Consider  again  the  persecutions  of  the  good ;  fires  for  the 
saints  of  all  ages,  dungeons  for  the  friends  of  liberty  and 
benefactors  of  their  times,  poison  for  Socrates,  a  cross  for 
Jesus  Christ.  What  does  it  mean?  What  face  shall  we 
put  on  this  outstanding  demonstration  of  the  world?  No 
other  but  this,  that  cursing  and  bitterness,  the  poison  even 
of  asps,  and  more,  is  entered  into  the  heart  of  man.  He 
hates  with  a  diabolical  hatred.  Feeling  "how  awful  good- 
ness is,"  the  sight  of  it  rouses  him  to  madness,  and  he  will 
not  stop  till  he  has  tasted  blood.  And  what  a  being  is 
tills  that  can  be  stung  with  so  great  madness,  by  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  good  and  holy  life.  The  fiercest  of  animals  are 
capable  of  no  such  devilish  instigation ;  because  they  are 
too  low  to  be  capable  of  goodness,  or  even  of  the  thought 
But  here  is  a  creature  who  can  not  bear  the  reminder,  even 


&8  DIGNITY     OF     HUMAN     NATURE 

of  good,  or  of  any  thing  above  the  ruin  wliere  his  deso- 
latei  glory  lies.  O  how  great  is  the  nature  which  is 
capable  of  this  dire  phrenzy. 

The  great  characters  of  the  world  furnish  another  strik' 
ing  proof  of  the  transcendent  quality  of  human  nature, 
by  the  dignity  they  are  able  to  connect  even  witli  their 
littleness  and  meanness.  On  a  small  island  of  the  southern 
Atlantic,  is  shut  up  a  remarkable  prisoner,  wearing  him- 
self out  there  in  a  feeble  mixture  of  peevishness  and  jeal- 
ousy, solaced  b}^  no  great  thoughts  and  no  heroic  spirit ; 
a  kind  of  dotard  before  the  time,  killing  and  consuming 
himself  by  the  intense  littleness  into  which  he  has  shrunk. 
And  this  is  the  great  conqueror  of  the  modern  world,  the 
man  whose  name  is  the  greatest  of  modern  names,  or,  some 
will  say,  of  all  names  the  human  world  has  pronounced ;  a 
man,  nevertheless,  who  carried  his  greatest  victories  and 
told  his  meanest  lies  in  close  proximity,  a  character  as  des- 
titute of  private  magnanimity,  as  he  was  remarkable  for 
the  stupendous  powers  of  his  understanding  and  the  more 
stupendous  and  imperial  leadership  of  his  will.  How 
^eat  a  being  must  it  be,  that  makes  a  point  of  so  great 
dignity  before  the  world,  despite  of  so  much  that  is  really 
little  and  contemptible. 

But  he  is  not  alone.  The  immortal  Kepler,  piloting 
Hcienoe  into  the  skies,  and  comprehending  the  vastncss  o/ 
heaven,  for  the  first  time,  in  the  fixed  embrace  of  definite 
thought,  only  proves  the  magnificence  of  man  as  a  rain, 
when  you  discover  the  strange  ferment  of  irritability  and 
'-superstition  wild,"  in  which  his  great  thoughts  are  brewed 
and  his  mighty  life  dissolved. 

So  also  Bacon  proves  the  amazing  wealth  and  grai^d- 
GUI  of  the  human  soul  onl}^  the  more   sublimely  thjt^ 


SHOWN     FROM     ITS     RUINS  59 

jving  in  an  element  of  cunning,  servility  and  ingratitude, 
and  dying  under  the  shame  of  a  convict,  he  is  yet  able  to 
dignify  disgrace  by  the  stupendous  majesty  of  his  genius, 
and  commands  the  reverence  even  of  the  world,  as  to  one  of 
its  sublimest  benefactors.     And  the  poet's  stinging  line— 

"The  greatest,  wisest,  meanest  of  mankiud," 

pictures,  only  with  a  small  excess  of  satire,  the  magnifi 
cence  of  ruin  comprehended  in  the  man. 

Probably  no  one  of  mankind  has  raised  himself  to  a 
higher  pitch  of  renown  by  the  superlative  attributes  of 
genius  displayed  in  his  writings,  than  the  great  English 
dramatist ;  flowering  out,  nevertheleas,  into  such  eminence 
of  glory,  on  a  compost  of  fustian,  buffoonery  and  other 
vile  stuff,  which  he  so  magnificently  covers  with  splendor 
and  irradiates  with  beaut}^,  that  disgust  itself  is  lost  in  the 
vehemence  of  praise.  And  so  we  shall  find,  almost  uni- 
versally, that  the  greatness  of  the  world's  great  men,  is 
proved  by  the  inborn  qualities  that  tower  above  the  ruina 
of  weakness  and  shame,  in  which  they  appear,  and  out  of 
which,  as  solitary'  pillars  and  dismantled  temples  they  rise. 

But  we  must  look  more  directly  into  the  contents  of  hu- 
man nature,  and  the  internal  ruin  by  which  they  are  dis- 
played. And  here  you  may  notice,  first  of  all,  the  sublime 
veliemence  of  the  passions.  What  a  creature  must  that 
be,  who,  out  of  mere  hatred,  or  revenge,  will  deliberately 
take  the  life  of  a  fellow  man,  and  then  dispatch  his  own  to 
avoid  the  ignominy  of  a  public  execution.  Suppose  there 
might  be  foun..  some  tiger  that,  for  the  mere  bitterness  of 
bis  grudge  against  some  other  whelp  of  his  mother,  springs 
upoi:  him  in  his  sleep  and  rends  him  in  pieces,  and  then 


60  DIGNITY     OF    HUMAN    NATU-RE 

deliberately  tears  open  his  own  tliroat  to  escape  the  venge 
ance  of  the  family,  ISTo  tiger  of  the  desert  i=  ever  insti 
gated  by  any  so  intense  and  terrible  jjassion,  that,  for  th  j 
sweetness  of  revenge,  is  willing  afterward  to  rush  on 
death  itself.  This  kind  of  phrenzy  plainly  belongs  to 
none  but  a  creature  immortal,  an  archangel  mined,  in 
t\'hose  breast  a  fire  of  hell  may  burn  high  enough  and 
deep  enough  to  scorch  down  even  reason  and  the  innate 
love  of  life.  Or  take  the  passion  of  covetousaess,  gener- 
ally regarded  §s  one  essentially  mean  and  degraded.  After 
all,  how  great  a  creature  must  that  be,  who  is  goaded  by 
a  zeal  of  acquisition  so  restless,  so  self-sacrificing,  so  insa- 
tiable. The  poor,  gaunt  miser,  starving  for  want,  that  he 
may  keep  the  count  of  his  gold — whom  do  we  more  natur- 
ally pity  and  despise.  And  yet  he  were  even  the  great- 
est of  heroes,  if  he  could  deny  himself  with  so  great  pa- 
tience, in  a  good  and  holy  cause.  How  grand  a  gift  that 
immortality,  how  deep  those  gulfs  of  want  in  the  soul, 
that  instigate  a  madness  so  desolating  to  character,  a  self 
immolation  so  relentless,  a  niggard  suffering  so  sublime. 
The  same  is  true  even  of  the  licentious  and  gluttonous 
lusts  and  their  loathsome  results.  No  race  of  animals  can 
show  the  parallel  of  such  vices ;  because  they  are  none  of 
them  instigated  by  a  nature  so  insatiable,  so  essentially 
great,  m  the  magnificence  of  wants  that  find  no  good  to 
satisfy  their  cravings.  The  ruin  we  say  is  beastly,  but  the 
beasts  are  clear  of  the  comparison ;  it  requires  a  mold  vaster 
than  theirs,  to  burst  the  limits  of  nature  in  excesses  so 
disgusting. 

Consider  again  the  wild  mixtui'cs  of  thought,  disphiy'cd 
both  in  the  waking  life  and  the  dreams  of  mankind.  IIov* 
gi'andl  how  mean!  how  sudden  the  leap  from  one  to  the 


SHOWN     FKOM     ITS     IIUINS  61 

Other!  liov^  inscrutable  the  succession!  bow  defiant  of  or- 
derly oontrol!  It  is  as  if  the  soul  were  a  thinking  ruin; 
wliich  it  verily  is.  The  angel  and'  the  demon  life  appear 
to  be  contending  in  it.  The  imaginaticn  /evels  in  beautj 
exceeding  all  the  beauty  of  things,  wails  in  images  dire 
and  monstrous,  wallows  in  murderous  and  base  sugges- 
tions that  shame  our  inward  dignity;  so  that  a  great  part 
of  the  study  and  a  principal  art  of  life,  is  to  keep  our 
decency,  by  a  wise  selection  from  what  we  think  and  a  careful 
suppression  of  the  remainder.  A  diseased  and  crazy  mix- 
ture, such  as  represents  a  ruin,  is  the  form  of  our  inward 
experience.  And  yet,  a  ruin  how  magnificent,  one  which 
a  buried  Nineveh,  or  a  desolated  Thebes  can  parallel  only 
in  the  feintest  degree ;  comprehending  all  that  is  purest, 
brightest,  most  divine,  even  that  which  is  above  the  firma- 
ment itself;  all  that  is  worst,  most  sordid,  meanest,  most 
deformed. 

Notice,  also,  the  significance  of  remorse.  How  great  a 
creature  must  that  be  that,  looking  down  upon  itself  from 
some  high  summit  in  itself,  some  throne  of  truth  and 
judgment  which  no  devastation  of  order  can  reach,  with- 
ers in  relentless  condemnation  of  itself,  gnaws  and  chas- 
tises itself  in  the  sense  of  what  it  is !  Call  it  a  ruin,  as  it 
plainly  is,  there  rises  out  of  the  desolated  wreck  of  'ta 
former  splendor,  that  which  indicates  and  measures  the 
sublimity  of  the  original  temple.  The  conscience  stands 
erect,  resisting  all  the  ravages  of  violence  and  decay,  and 
by  this,  we  distinguish  the  temple  of  God  that  was ;  a  soul 
divinely  gifted,  made  to  be  the  abode  of  his  spirit,  the 
vehicle  of  his  power,  the  mirror  of  his  glory.  A  cmturo 
of  remorse  is  a  divine  creatuie  of  necessity,  only  it  is  th6 
MTeck  of  a  divinity  that  was. 


62  DIGNITY     OF     HUMAN     NATURE 

So  again,  you  may  conceive  the  greatness  of  man,  by 
the  ruin  he  makes,  if  you  advert  to  the  dissonance  and 
obstinacy  of  his  evil  will.  It  is  dissonant  as  being  out  of 
harmony  with  God  and  the  wor.d,  and  all  beside  in  the 
goul  itself;  viz.,  the  reason,  the  conscience,  the  wants,  the 
hopes,  and  even  the  remembrances  of  the  soul.  How  greal 
a  creature  is  it  that,  knowing  God,  can  set  itself  off  from 
God  and  resist  him,  can  make  itself  a  unit,  separate  from 
all  beings  beside,  and  maintain  a  persistent  rebellion  even 
against  its  own  convictions,  fears  and  aspirations.  Like  a 
Pharaoh  it  sits  on  its  Egyptian  throne,  quailing  in  dark- 
ness, under  the  successive  fears  and  judgments  of  life,  re- 
lenting for  the  moment,  then  gathering  itself  up  again  to 
re-assert  the  obstinacy  of  its  pride,  and  die,  it  may  be,  jn 
its  evil.  What  a  power  is  this,  capable  of  a  dominion 
how  sublime,  a  work  and  sphere  how  transcendent!  If 
gin  is  weak,  if  it  is  mean,  little,  selfish  and  deformed,  and 
we  are  ready  to  set  humanity  down  as  a  low  and  paltry 
thing  of  nothing  worth,  how  terrible  and  tragic  in  its  evil 
grandeur  does  it  appear,  when  we  turn  to  look  upon  its 
defiance  of  God,  and  the  desperate  obstinacy  of  its  war- 
fare. Who,  knowing  the  judgment  of  God,  that  they 
which  commit  such  things  are  worth}^  of  death,  not  only 
do  the  same,  but  have  pleasure  in  them  that  do  them.  Or 
as  we  have  it  in  the  text, — There  is  no  fear  of  God  before 
their  eyes.  In  one  view  there  is  fear  enough,  the  soul  is 
All  its  life  long  haunted  by  this  fear,  but  there  is  a  despera- 
tion of  will  that  tramples  fear  and  makes  it  as  though  it 
v^'cre  not. 

Consider  once  moie  the  religious  aspirations  and  capaci- 
Eie3  of  religious  attraction  that  are  garnered  up,  and  still 
Live  i]»  the  ruins  of  humanity.     How  plain  it  is,  in  all  the 


SHOWN    FROM     ITS     RUlNo.  63 

.tiost  forward  demonstrations  of  the  race,  tliat  man  is  a 
(jreature  for  religion ;  a  creature  secretly  allied  to  God  liini' 
self,  as  the  needle  is  to  the  pole,  attracted  toward  God, 
aspiring  consciouslj^,  or  unconsciously,  to  the  friendship 
and  love  of  God.  jSTeither  is  it  true  that,  in  his  fallen 
state,  he  has  no  capacity  left  of  religious  affection,  or  at- 
traction, till  it  is  first  new  created  in  him.  All  his  capaci- 
ties of  love  and  truth  are  in  him  still,  only  buried  and 
stifled  by  the  smoldering  ruin  in  which  he  lies.  There 
is  a  capacity  in  him  still  to  be  moved  and  drawn,  to  be 
charmed  and  melted  by  the  divine  love  and  beauty.  The 
okl  affinity  lives,  though  smothered  in  selfishness  and  lust, 
and  even  proves  itself  in  sorrowful  evidence,  when  he  bows 
himself  down  to  a  reptile  or  an  idol.  He  will  do  his  most 
expensive  works  for  religion.  There  is  a  deep  panting 
KtilJ  in  his  bosom,  however  suppressed,  that  cries  inaudibly 
and  sobs  with  secret  longing  after  God.  Hence  the  sub- 
lime unhappiness  of  the  race.  There  is  a  vast,  immortal 
want  stirring  on  the  world  and  forbidding  it  to  rest.  In 
the  cursing  and  bitterness,  in  the  deceit  of  tongues,  in  the 
poison  of  asps,  in  the  swiftness  to  blood,  in  all  the  desti  ac- 
tion atxd  misery  of  the  world's  ruin,  there  is  yet  a  vast  in- 
satiate hunger  for  the  good,  the  true,  the  holy,  the  divine, 
and  a  great  part  of  the  miser}^  of  the  ruin  is  that  it  is  so 
great  a  ruin;  a  desolation  of  that  which  can  not  uttei'ly 
perish,  and  still  lives,  asserting  its  defrauded  rights  and  re- 
c]:uming  its  lost  glories.  And  therefore  it  is  that  life  be- 
comes an  experience  to  the  race  so  tragic  in  its  character, 
so  dark  and  wild,  so  bitter,  so  incapable  of  peace.  The 
way  of  peace  we  can  not  know,  till  we  find  our  peace, 
where  our  immortal  aspii-ations  place  it,  in  the  fullness  and 
the  friendly  eternity  of  God. 


64  DIGNITY     OF     HUMAN    NATURE 

Regarding  man  then,  as  immersed  in  evil,  a  being  in 
disorder,  a  spiritual  intelligence  in  a  state  of  ruin,  we  dero- 
gate notliing  from  his  dignity.  Small  conception  has  aaj' 
one  of  the  dignity  of  human  nature,  who  conceives  it  only 
vu  the  side  of  praise,  or  as  set  off  by  the  figments  of  fi 
merely  natural  virtue.  As  little  coiild  he  apprehend  thn 
tragic  sublimity  of  Hamlet,  considered  only  as  an  amiable 
son  ingenuously  hui't  by  the  insult  done  his  father's  name 
and  honor.  The  character  is  great,  not  here,  but  in  ita 
wildness  and  its  tragic  mystery ;  delicate  and  fierce,  vin- 
dictive and  cool,  shrewd  and  terrible,  a  reasonable  ;nid  a 
reasoning  madness,  more  than  we  can  solve,  all  that  we 
can  feel.  And  so  it  is  that  we  discover  the  true  majesty 
of  human  nature  itself,  in  the  tragic  grandeur  of  its  dis- 
orders, nowhere  else.  Nothing  do  we  know  of  its  meas- 
wes,  regarded  in  the  smooth  plausibilities  and  the  respect- 
able airs  of  good  breeding,  and  worldly  virtue.  It  is  only 
as  a  lost  being  that  man  appears  to  be  truly  great.  Judge 
him  by  the  ruin  he  makes,  wander  amcng  the  shattered 
pillars  and  follen  towers  of  his  majesty,  behold  the  immor- 
tal and  eternal  vestiges,  study  his  passions,  thoughts,  aspir- 
ations, woes ;  behold  the  destruction  and  miser}^  that  are 
in  his  ways, — destruction  how  sublime,  misery  how  deep, 
clung  to  with  how  great  pertinacity,  and  then  say,- — thig 
is  man,  this  is  the  dignity  of  human  nature.  It  will  kin- 
dle no  pride  in  you,  stimulate  no  pompous  conceit,  but  il 
will  reveal  a  terror,  discover  a  shame,  speak  a  true  con- 
viction, and,  it  may  be,  draw  forth  a  tear. 

Having  reached  this  natural  limit  of  our  subject.  Jet  us 
pause  a  moment,  and  look  about  us  on  some  of  t])e  prao 
deal  issues  to  which  it  is  n,  lated. 


SHC/WN     FllOM     irS     RUINS.  85 

It  is  getting  to  be  a  great  ho]'e  of  our  time,  that  society 
L8  going  to  slide  into  something  better,  by  a  course  of  natu- 
ral progress ;  by  tlie  advance  of  education,  by  great  public 
reforms,  by  courses  of  self-culture  and  pliilanthropic  prac* 
tice  We  have  a  kind  of  new  gospel  that  corresponds  ;  a 
gospel  which  preaches  not  so  much  a  faith  in  God's  salva- 
tion as  a  faith  in  human  nature ;  an  attenuated  moralizing 
gospel  that  proposes  development,  not  regeneration  ;  show- 
ing men  how  to  grow  better,  how  to  cultivate  their  amia- 
ble instincts,  how  to  be  rational  in  their  own  light  and 
govern  themselves  by  their  own  power.  Sometimes  it  is 
given  as  the  true  problem,  how  to  refoim  the  shape  and 
re-coQstruct  the  stjde  of  their  heads,  and  even  this  it  is  ex- 
pected they  will  certainly  be  able  to  do !  Alas  that  we  are 
taken,  or  can  be,  with  so  great  folly.  How  plain  it  is  that 
no  such  gospel  meets  our  want.  What  can  it  do  for 
us  but  turn  us  away,  more  and  more  fatally,  from  that 
gospel  of  the  Son  of  God,  which  is  our  only  hope.  Man 
as  a  ruin,  going  after  development,  and  progress,  and 
philanthropy,  and  social  culture,  and,  by  this  fire-fly  glim- 
mer, to  make  a  day  of  glory !  And  this  is  the  doctrine 
that  proposes  shortly  to  restore  society,  to  settle  the  passion, 
regenerate  the  affection,  re-glorify  the  thought,  fill  the  as- 
piration of  a  desiring  and  disjointed  world!  As  if  any 
being  but  God  had  power  to  grapple  with  these  human 
disorders ;  as  if  man,  or  society,  crazed  and  maddened  by 
the  demoniacal  frenzy  of  sin,  were  going  to  rebuild  the 
state  of  order,  and  re-construct  the  shattered  haraiony  of 
nature,  by  such  kind  of  desultory  counsel  and  unstead^) 
application  as  it  can  manage  to  enforce  in  its  own  cause; 
going  to  do  this  miracle  by  its  science,  its  compacts,  and 
self-executed  i-eforms!     As  socn  will  the  desolations  of 

6* 


6Q  DIGNITY    OF    HUMAN     NATURE 

Karnac  gather  up  their  fragments  and  re-construcfc  tht  pro 
portions  out  of  which  they  have  fallen.  No,  it  is  not 
progress,  not  reforms  that  are  wanted  as  any  principal  thing. 
Nothing  meets  our  case,  but  to  come  unto  God  and  be 
-medicated  in  him ;  to  be  born  of  God,  and  so,  by  his  re- 
generative power,  to  be  set  in  heaven's  own  order.  Ue 
alone  can  re-build  the  ruin,  he  alone  set  up  the  glorious 
temple  of  the  mind;  and  those  divine  aflftnities  in  us  tliat 
raven  with  immortal  hunger — he  alone  can  satisfy  them 
11.  the  bestowment  of  himself. 

And  this  brings  me  to  speak  of  another  point,  where  the 
subject  unfolded  carries  an  important  application.  The 
great  difficulty  with  Christianity  in  our  time  is,  that,  as  a 
fact,  or  salvation,  it  is  too  great  for  belief.  After  all  our 
supposed  discoveries  of  dignity  in  human  nature,  we  have 
commonly  none  but  the  meanest  opinion  of  man.  How 
can  we  imagine  or  believe  that  any  such  history  as  that  of 
Jesus  Christ  is  a  fact,  or  that  the  infinite  God  has  trans- 
acted any  such  wonder  for  man,  a  being  so  far  below  his 
rational  concern,  or  the  range  of  his  practical  sympathy? 
God  manifest  in  the  flesh !  God  in  Christ  reconciling  the 
world  rmto  himself!  the  birth  of  the  manger !  the  life  of 
miracle!  the  incarnate  djnng!  and  the  wofld  darkening  iu 
funeral  grief  around  the  mighty  sufferer's  cross ! — it  is  ex- 
travagant, out  of  proportion, — who  can  believe  it  ?  Any 
one,  I  answer,  who  has  not  lost  the  magnitude  of  man. 
No  work  of  God  holds  a  juster  proportion  than  this  great 
mysterj^  of  godliness,  and  if  we  did  but  understand  the. 
great  mystery  of  ungodliness  we  should  think  so.  No 
man  will  ever  have  any  difhculty  in  believing  the  work  of 
Christ  who  has  not  lost  the  measures  of  humanity.     But 


SHOWN     FROM     ITS    RUINS.  67 

f!)r  tliis,  no  man  will  ever  think  it  reason  to  deny  his  di- 
vinity, explain  away  his  incarnation,  or  reject  the  mystery 
of  hi.'-"  cross.  To  restore  this  tragic  fall  reouired  a  tragio 
salvation.  Nor  did  ever  any  sinner  who  had  come  to 
himself,  felt  tlie  bondage  of  his  sin,  trembled  in  the  sense  oi 
his  terrible  disorders,  groaned  over  the  deep  gulfs  of  want 
opened  by  his  sin,  struggled  with  himself  to  compose  the 
bitter  struggles  of  his  nature,  heaved  in  throes  of  anguish 
to  emancipate  himself, — no  such  person,  however  deep  in 
philosophy,  or  scepticism,  ever  .thought,  for  one  moment, 
that  Christ  was  too  great  a  Saviour.  0,  it  was  a  divine 
Saviour,  an  almighty  Saviour,  coming  out  from  God's  eter- 
nity, that  he  wanted  !  none  but  such  was  sufficient!  Him 
he  could  believe  in,  just  because  he  was  great, — equal  to 
the  measures  of  his  want,  able  to  burst  the  bondage  of  his 
sin.  "For  God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  only 
begotten  sod,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not 
perish,  but  should  have  everlasting  life." — 0,  it  is  the  word 
of  reason  to  his  soul.  He  believes,  and  on  this  rock,  as  a 
rock  of  adequate  salvation,  he  rests. 

Once  more,  it  is  another  and  important  use  of  the  sub- 
ject we  have  here  presented,  that  the  magnitude  and  real 
importance  of  the  soul  are  discovered  in  it,  as  nowhere 
else.  For  it  is  not  by  any  computations  of  reason,  but  in 
your  wild  disorders,  your  suppressed  affinities  for  God,  the 
distempers  and  storms  of  your  passions,  and  the  magnifi- 
cent chaos  of  3''0ur  immortality,  that  you  will  get  the  tru- 
est opinion  of  your  consequence  to  yourselves.  Just  that 
which  makes  you  most  oblivious  and  Windest  to  yovtr  own 
Bignificance,  ought  to  make  you  most  aware  of  it  and  press 
you  most  earnestlv  to  God.     T  know  rot  how  it  is,  but  the 


68  DIGNITY     OF     HUMAN     NATURE 

Boiil  appears  under  sin,  all  selfish  as  it  is,  to  shrink  and 
g]-ow  small  in  its  own  sight.  Perhaps  it  is  due,  in  part,  tc 
the  consciousness  we  have,  in  sin,  of  moral  littleness  anj 
meanness.  We  commonly  speak  of  it  in  figures  of  thia 
kind,  we  call  it  low  and  weak  and  degraded,  and  fall  into 
the  impression  that  these  words  are  real  measures  of  our 
natural  magnitude.  Whereas,  in  another  sense,  the  sin 
we  speak  of  is  mighty,  terrible,  God-defying  and  triumph' 
ant.  Let  this  thought  come  to  you,  my  friends,  as  well  aa 
the  other,  and  if  sin  is  morally  little,  let  it  be,  in  power, 
mighty  as  it  really  is.  The  shadow  by  which  most  con- 
Adncingly  your  true  height  is  measured,  is  that  which  ia 
cast  athwart  the  abyss  of  your  shame  and  spiritual  igno- 
miny. Just  here  it  is  that  you  will  get  your  most  verita- 
ble impressions  of  your  immortality ;  even  as  you  get  jom 
best  impression  of  armies,  not  by  the  count  of  numbers, 
but  by  the  thunder-shock  of  battle,  and  the  carnage  of  the 
field  when  it  is  over.  We  try  all  other  methods,  but  in 
vain,  to  rouse  in  men's  bosoms  some  barely  initial  sense  of 
their  consequence  to  themselves,  and  get  some  hold,  in 
that  manner,  of  the  stupendous  immortality  Christ  recog- 
nizes in  them  and  throws  off  his  glory  to  redeem.  Wt 
take  the  guage  of  your  power  as  a  mind,  showing  what 
this  power  of  mind  has  been  able,  in  the  explorations  of 
matter  and  light  and  air,  of  sea  and  land,  and  the  distant 
fields  of  heaven,  to  do.  We  display  its  inventions,  recouni. 
its  victories  over  nature.  We  represent,  as  vividly  as  we 
cau,  and  by  computations  as  vast  and  far-reaching  as  we 
are  master  of,  in  our  finite  arithmetic,  the  meaning  of  the 
word,  eternity.  All  in  vain.  What  are  you  still  but  the 
insect  of  some  present  hour,  in  which  you  live  and  fluttel 
and  die?     But  here  we  take  another  method,  we  call  you 


SHOWN     FROM     ITS    RUINS.  Od 

Lo  the  battle  field  of  sin.  We  show  you  the  vestigea 
This  we  say  is  man,  the  fallen  principality.  In  these  tragic! 
desolations  of  intelligence  and  genius,  of  passion,  pride 
and  sorrow,  behold  the  import  of  his  eternity.  Be  no 
mere  spectator,  turn  the  glass  we  give  3'^ou  round  upon 
yourself,  look  into  the  ruin  of  your  own  conscious  spirit, 
and  see  how  much  it  signifies,  both  that  you  are  a  sinner 
and  a  man.  Here,  within  the  soul's  gloom}'^  chamber,  the 
loosened  passions  rage  and  chafe,  impatient  of  their  law ; 
here  huddle  on  the  wild  and  desultory  thoughts;  here  the 
imagination  crowds  in  shapes  of  glory  and  disgust,  tokens 
both  and  mockeries  of  its  own. creative  power,  no  longer 
in  the  keeping  of  reason;  here  sits  remorse  scowling  and 
biting  her  chain ;  here  creep  out  the  fears,  a  meagre  and 
pale  multitude ;  here  drives  on  the  will  in  his  chariot  of 
war ;  here  lie  trampled  the  great  aspirations,  groaning  in 
immortal  thirst ;  here  the  blasted  affections  weeping  out 
their  life  in  silent  injury ;  all  that  you  see  without,  in  the 
wars,  revenges  and  the  crazed  religions  of  the  world,  is 
faithfully  represented  in  the  appalling  disorders  of  youi 
own  spirit.  And  yet,  despite  all  this,  a  fact  which  over- 
tops and  crowns  all  other  evidence,  you  are  trying  and 
contriving  still  to  be  happy — a  happy  ruin !  The  eternal 
destiny  is  in  you,  and  you  can  not  break  loose  from  it. 
With  your  farthing  bribes  you  try  to  hush  your  stupen- 
dous wants,  with  your  single  drops,  (drops  of  gall  and  not 
of  water,)  to  fill  the  ocean  of  your  immortal  aspirations. 
Vou  call  on  desti action  to  help  ycxi,  and  misery  to  give 
you  comfort,  and  complain  that  destruction  and  misery  are 
Btill  in  all  your  ways.  0,  this  great  and  mighty  soul,  were 
it  something  less,  you  might  find  what  to  do  with  it ;  charru 
it  with  the  jingle  of  a  golden  toy,  house  it  in  a  safe  with 


?0  DIGNITY     OF     HUMAN     NATURE. 

'edgers  and  stocks,  take  it  about  on  journeys  to  see  and  be 
Been !  Any  thing  would  please  it  and  bring  it  content 
But  it  is  tlie  godlike  soul,  capable  of  rest  in  nothing  but 
God  ;  able  to  be  filled  and  satisfied  with  nothing  but  hi^ 
fullness  and  the  confidence  of  his  friendship.  What  man 
tliat  lives  in  sin  can  know  it,  or  conceive  it;  who  believe 
what  it  is! 

0,  thou  Prince  of  Life!  come  in  thy  great  salvation  to 
these  blinded  and  lost  men,  and  lay  thy  piercing  question 
to  their  ear, — What  shall  it  profit  a  man  to  gain  the  whole 
world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  Breathe,  0  breathe  on  these 
majestic  ruins,  and  rouse  to  life  again,  though  it  be  but  for 
one  hour,  the  forgotten  sense  of  their  eternity,  their  lost 
eternity. 

Even  so,  your  lost  eternity.  The  great  salvation 
coming,  then,  is  not  too  great;  nought  else,  or  less  could 
suffice.  For  if  there  be  any  truth  that  can  fitly  appall  you, 
live  you  with  conviction,  drive  you  home  to  God,  dissolve 
you  in  tears  of  repentance,  it  is  here,  when  you  discover 
yourself  and  your  terrible  misdoings,  in  the  ruins  of  your 
desolated  majesty.  In  these  awful  and  scarred  vestiges^ 
too,  what  type  is  given  you  of  that  other  and  final  ruin, 
of  which  Christ  so  kindly  and  faithfully  warned  you, 
when,  describing  the  house  you  are  building  on  these 
treacherous  sands,  he  showed  the  fatal  storm  beating 
vehemently  against  it,  with  only  this  one  issue  possible — 
And  immediately  it  fell,  and  the  ruin  of  that  house  wa.*; 
great. 


IV. 

TiTE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOITI,. 

Luke  xv.  17. — 'M?k/  ivhen  he  came  io  hii/wdf]  he  said, 
How  many  hired  servants  of  my  father's  have  bread  enough 
and  io  spare,  and  I  perish  with  hunger^ 

This  gentleman's  son  that  was,  and  is  now  a  swine-herd, 
brings  his  meditation  to  a  most  natural  and  fit  conclusion. 
His  low  occupation,  and  the  husks  on  which  he  has  been 
feeding  to  save  his  life,  recall  his  father's  house,  and  the 
hired  servants  there  that  have  bread  enough  and  to  spare, 
and,  no  longer  able  to  contain  himself,  he  cries,  in  bitter 
desolation,  "  I  perish  with  hunger."  And  so,  in  this  story 
of  the  prodigal,  Christ  teaches  all  men  their  hunger,  by 
means  of  that  on  which  they  feed,  and  the  necessary  base- 
ness of  their  sin,  by  the  lowness  of  the  objects  to  which 
they  descend  for  their  life. 

The  swine,  according  to  Jewish  opinion,  is  an  unclean 
animal,  not  to  be  eaten  as  food,  and  therefore  is  not  raised, 
except  by  those  idolaters  and  men  of  no  religion,  who  live 
as  outcasts  in  their  country.  Hence  it  is  looked  upon  as 
the  lowest  and  most  abject  of  all  occupations  to  be  a  swine- 
herd. He  is  the  disgust  of  all  men,  an  unclean  charactei, 
who  is,  among  other  men,  what  the  swine  is  among  other 
animals.  He  may  not  enter  the  temple,  or  even  come 
near  it. 

By  the  husks  on  which  the  prodigal  is  said,  in  his  hun- 
ger^  to  have  fed  himself,  we  are  not  to  understand  exactly 
what  is  meant  by  the  English  word  huslcs,  bat  a  certain 


72  THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL. 

fruit,  Llie  fruit  of  the  carob  tree,  which  grows  in  pods  ani: 
has  a  mealy  and  sweet  taste.  It  is  described  by  Galen  as 
a  "  woody  kind  of  food,  creating  bile,  and  hard  of  diges- 
tion;" useful,  as  acorns  are  with  us,  in  the  feeding  of  swrje, 
and  sometimes  eaten  by  the  poorer  sort  of  men,  to  escapo 
starvation.  Still  it  can  work  no  injury,  since  this  kind  of 
fruit  is  unknown  to  us,  to  retain  the  word  husks ;  a  word 
thai  comes  nearer  producing  the  true  impression  of  the 
parable,  which  is  the  principal  thing,  than  any  other  which 
might  be  substituted. 

The  important  thing  to  be  noted,  as  regards  my  present 
object,  is  the  prodigal's  hunger.  About  this  central  })oint, 
or  flict,  all  the  other  incidents  of  the  parable  are  gatliered. 
And  by  this  wretched  figure  of  destitution,  the  Saviour  of 
the  world  represents  man  under  sin ;  he  is  one  who  for- 
sakes the  life  of  duty  and  i^eligion,  to  go  after  earthly 
things.  He  is,  therefore,  reduced  to  the  lowest  condition 
of  want,  or  spiritual  hunger.  His  food  is  not  the  proper 
food  of  a  man,  but  of  a  swine  rather.  A  high-born  crea- 
ture, as  being  in  God's  image,  he  descends  to  occupations 
that  are  unclean,  and  feeds  his  starving  nature  on  that 
which  belongs  only  to  a  reprobate,  or  unclean  class  of  ani- 
mals. In  this  lot  of  deep  debasement  and  bitter  privation 
there  is  no  language  in  which  he  may  so  naturally  vent  his 
mise]'y  as  when  he  cries,  "I  perish  with  hunger." 

What  I  propose,  then,  for  our  meditation,  is  tho  trutl 
here  expressed,  that  a  life  separated  from  God  is  a  life  o] 
hitter  hunger^  or  even  of  spiritual  starvation. 

My  object  will  be,  not  so  much  to  prov(3  this  truth  as  tc 
make  it  apjiarent,  or  visible,  as  a  real  fact,  by  means  of 
ajipropriate  illustrations,  But,  in  order  to  this,  it  inW  bf 
itec(%ssarv. 


THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL.  73 

r.  To  exliibit  the  trae  grounds  of  the  ftict  stated;  for, 
as  we  discover  how  and  for  what  reasons  the  life  of  sin 
mast  be  a  life  of  hunger,  we  shall  see  the  more  readily 
and  clearly  the  force  of  those  illustrations,  b}''  which  tlic 
fact  is  exhibited. 

The  great  principle  that  underlies  the  whole  subject  and 
all  the  facts  pertaining  to  it  is,  that  tlie  soul  is  a  creature 
that  wants  food,  in  order  to  its  satisfaction,  as  tridy  as  the  body. 
No  principle  is  more  cei'tain,  and  3^et  there  is  none  so 
generally  overlooked,  or  hidden  from  the  sight  of  men. 

Of  course  it  is  not  meant,  when  the  soul  is  said  to  be  a 
creature  wanting  food,  that  it  receives  by  a  literal  mastica- 
tion, and  has  a  palate  to  be  gratified  in  what  it  receives. 
I  only  mean  to  universalize  the  great  truth  that  pertains 
to  all  vital  creatures  and  organs ;  viz.,  that  they  differ  from 
all  dead  substances,  stones  for  example,  in  the  fact  that 
they  subsist  in  a  health}^  state  of  vital  energy  and  develop- 
ment, by  receiving,  appropriating,  ol-  feeding  upon  some- 
thing out  of  themselves.  Every  tree  and  plant  is,  in  this 
view,  a  feeding  creature,  and  grows  by  that  which  feeds  it , 
that,  viz.,  which  it  derives  from  the  air  and  clouds,  front 
the  soil  and  the  changing  influence  of  day  and  night.  In 
this  larger  sense,  every  organ  of  the  body  is  a  receptive 
and  feeding  organ.  Sometimes  it  is  fed  by  other  organs, 
which  prepare  and  furnish  to  it  the  food  that  is  needful  for 
its  growth  and  subsistence.  In  this  manner  even  the 
hones  are  feeding  creatures.  So  the  senses  are  fed  by  the 
eJements  appropriate,  the  ear  by  sounds,  the  eye  by  the 
light.  And  so  true  is  this,  that  an  eye  shut  up  in  total 
darkness,  and  probably  an  ear  cut  off  from  all  sound,  will 
finally  die,  or  become  an  exterminated  sense;  even  as  that 
whole  t"  "be  of  fishes,  discovered  in  the  cave,  are  found  to 

7 


74  THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL. 

have  no  eyes.  Now  what  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  all  thciw 
vital  creatures,  vegetable  and  animal,  are  only  so  many 
types  of  the  soul,  which  is  the  highest,  purest  form  of 
vital  being  we  know;  and  that,  as  they  all  subsist  by 
feeding  on  something  not  in  themselves,  and  die  for  hun- 
ger without  that  food,  just  so  the  soul  is  a  creature  wanting 
food,  and  fevering  itself  in  bitter  hunger  when  that  food 
is  denied. 

Hence  it  is  that,  in  that  most  unnatural  of  all  modes  of 
punishment,  regarded  unaccountably  with  so  great  favoi 
by  many,  the  punishment  I  mean  of  absolute  solitary  con- 
linement,  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  prisoners  becomj 
idiotic.  Cut  off  from  all  the  living  sights  and  sounds,  the 
faces  of  friends,  the  voices  of  social  interchange,  and  the 
works  and  interests  of  life ;  shut  away  thus  from  all  that 
enters  into  feeling,  or  quickens  intelligence,  or  exercises 
judgment,  or  nerves  the  will  to  action,  the  soul  has  no 
longer  any  thing  to  feed  upon,  and,  for  want  of  food,  it 
dies, — dies  into  blank  idiocy. 

Neither  let  this  want  of  food  in  souls  be  regarded  as  a 
merely  philosophic  truth,  or  discovery.  It  is  a  truth  so 
natural  to  the  feeling  of  mankind,  that  it  breaks  into  lan- 
guage every  hour,  and  appears  and  re-appears  in  the  scrip- 
ture, in  so  many  forms,  that  I  can  not  stay  to  enumerate 
half  of  them.  Job  brings  it  forward,  by  a  direct  and 
fcimplc  comparison,  when  he  says, — For  the  ear  trieth 
words,  as  the  mouth  tasteth  meat, — where  he  means  by 
the  ear,  you  perceive,  not  the  outward  but  the  inward  ear 
of  the  understanding.  So  the  Psalmist  says, — My  soul  shall 
be  satisfied,  as  with  marrow  and  fatness.  And  so  also  the 
prophet,  beholding  his  apostate  countrymen  dying  foi 
hunger  and  thirst  in  their  sins,  calls  to  tnem  saying  -Ho 


THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL.  75 

every  one  that  thirstetli,  come  ye  to  the  waters;  and  he 
that  hath  no  money,  come  je  buy  an(^  eat.  Wherefore  dc 
you  spend  monc}''  for  that  wliich  is  not  bread,  and  youi 
lal)or  for  that  whicli  satisficth  not  ?  Hearken  diligently  un- 
to me,  and  eat  yc  that  which  is  good,  and  let  your  soul 
delight  itself  in  fatness.  In  the  same  way,  an  apostle 
speaks  of  them  that  have  tasted  the  good  word  of  God. 
and  the  powers  of  the  world  to  come ;  and  another,  of 
them  that  have  tasted  that  the  Lord  is  gracious,  and  there- 
fore desire  the  sincere  milk  of  the  word,  that  they  may 
grow  thereby. 

True,  these  are  all  figures  of  speech,  transferred  from 
the  feeding  of  the  body  to  that  of  the  soul.  But  they  are 
ti'ansferred  because  they  have  a  fitness  to  be  transferred. 
The  analogy  of  the  soul  is  so  close  to  that  of  the  body, 
that  it  speaks  of  its  hung(!r,  its  food,  its  fullness;,  and 
growth,  and  fatness,  under  the  images  it  derives  from  the 
body. 

Hence  you  will  observe  that  our  blessed  Lord  appears 
to  have  always  the  feeling,  that  he  has  come  down  into  a 
realm  of  hungry,  famishing  souls.  You  see  this  in  the 
parable  of  the  prodigal  son,  and  that  of  the  feast  or  sup 
per.  Hence  also  that  very  remarkable  discourse  in  the 
6th  chapter  of  John,  where  he  declares  himself  as  the  liv- 
ing bread  that  came  down  from  heaven — that  a  man  mav 
eat  thereof  and  not  die.  Whoso  eateth  my  flesh  and 
'.Irinketh  my  blood  hath  eternal  life.  Mj  flesh  is  nieat 
mdeed,  and  my  blood  is  drink  indeed.  He  that  eateth  my 
llesh  and  drinketh  my  blood,  dwelleth  in  me  and  I  in  him, 
As  the  living  Father  hath  sent  me,  and  I  live  by  the  Father, 
BO  he  that  eateth  me,  even  he  shall  live  by  me. 

Many,  I  believe,  are  not  able  to  read  thi.s  language 


76  THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL. 

without  a  kind  of  revolted  feeling.  What  can  it  meal 
tiiat  tLey  are  to  live  by  eating  Christ?  There  is  no  diffi 
culty,  I  answer,  in  the  language,  save  in  getting  at  the 
rational  and  true  sense  of  the  figure  eir  ployed,  and,  when 
this  is  done,  it  becomes  language  strikingly  signiiicant. 
Suppose  it  were  said  that  a  tree  can  live,  only  as  it  eats  the 
air  and  the  light;  the  meaning,  of  course,  would  not  be 
that  it  takes  these  elements  by  mastication,  but  that  it  has 
such  a  nature  that  it  takes  them  into  itself  and  gets  a  nu- 
triment of  growth  out  of  them,  and  that  without  them,  so 
appropriated,  it  would  die.  So,  when  Clirist  says, — I  will 
manifest  myself  unto  him, — we  will  come  and  make  our 
abode  with  him, — he  means  that  he  will  be  so  received 
and  appropriated  by  the  soul  as  to  be  its  light,  the  breath- 
ing of  its  life,  that  which  feeds  it  internally.  He  assumes, 
^n  all  that  he  says,  that  as  the  tree  has  a  nature  requiring 
^;0  be  fed  by  air  and  light,  so  the  soul  has  a  nature  inhe- 
rently related  to  God,  the  Infinite  Spirit.  Hence  the  deep 
hunger  of  the  world  in  sin ;  because  the  sin  is  its  attempt 
to  live  without  God  and  apart  from  God. 

Accordingly,  it  is  the  gi'and  endeavor  of  the  gospel  to 
C'^mmunicate  God  to  men.  They  have  undertaken  to  live 
without  him,  and  do  not  see  that  tliey  are  starving  in  the 
bitterness  of  their  experiment.  It  is  not,  as  with  bodily 
luniger,  where  they  have  a  sure  instinct  compelling  them 
to  seek  their  food,  but  they  go  after  the  husks,  and  would 
Iain  be  filled  with  these,  not  even  so  much  as  conceiving 
n'hat  is  their  real  want,  or  how  it  comes.  For  it  is  a  re- 
■.narkable  fact  that  so  few  men,  living  in  the  flesh,  have 
any  conception  that  God  is  the  nccessar}'-  supply  and  nutri 
ment  of  their  spiritual  nature,  witliout  which  they  famish 
and  die.     It  has  an  extravagant  sound,  when  they  hear  ii 


THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL.  77 

They  do  not  believe  it.  How  can  it  be  that  they  have  uny 
such  high  relation  to  the  Eternal  God,  or  he  to  them '{  11 
is  as  if  the  tree  were  to  say,- — -wliat  can  I  a  mere  trunk  of 
v/ootl,  all  dark  and  solid  within,  standing  fast  in  my  rod  of 
ground, — what  can  I  have  to  do  with  the  free  moving  air. 
and  tlie  boundless  sea  of  light  that  fills  the  world?  And 
yet  it  is  a  nature  made  to  feed  on  these,  taking  them  into 
its  body  to  supply,  and  vitalize,  and  color  every  fibre  of  its 
substance.  Just  so  it  is  that  every  finite  spirit  is  inherently 
related  to  the  infinite,  in  him  to  live,  and  move,  and  have 
its  being.  It  wants  the  knowledge  of  God,  the  society  of 
God,  the  approbation  of  God,  the  internal  manifestation 
of  God,  a  consciousness  lighted  up  by  his  presence,  to  re 
ceive  of  his  fullneSvS,  to  be  strong  in  his  mi2,'ht,  to  rest  in 
his  love,  anil  be  centered  everlastingly  in  his  glory.  Apart 
from  Ilim,  it  is  an  incom])lete  creature,  a  poor  blank  frag- 
ment of  existence,  hungry,  dry  and  cold.  And  still,  alas  \ 
it  can  not  think  so.  Therefore  Christ  comes  into  the 
world  to  incarnate  the  divine  nature,  otherwise  unrecog- 
nized, before  it ;  so  to  reveal  God  to  its  knowledge,  enter 
him  into  its  faith  and  feeling,  make  him  its  living  bread, 
the  food  of  its  eternity.  Therefore  of  his  fullness  we  are 
called  to  feed,  receiving  of  him  freely  grace  for  grace. 
When  he  is  received,  he  restores  the  consciousness  of  God, 
fills  the  soul  with  the  divine  light,  and  sets  it  in  that  con- 
uection  with  God  which  is  life, —eternal  life. 

Holding  this  view  of  the  inherent  i elation  between  cre- 
ated souls  and  God  as  their  nourishing  principle,  we  pass — 

n.  To  a  consideration  of  the  necessary  hunger  of  a  state 
of  sin,  and  the  tokens  by  which  it  is  indicated.  A  hungry 
herd  of  animals,  waiting  for  the  time  of  their  feeding,  dc 


rS  THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL. 

»iot  sliow  tli(dr  hunger  more  convincingly,  by  their  impa 
ticnt  dies  and  eager  looks  and  motions,  than  the  humau 
race  do  theirs,  in  the  works,  and  ways,  and  tempers  of 
their  selfish  life. 

I  can  only  point  you  to  a  few  of  these  demonstrations 
.\.nd  a  very  impressive  and  remarkable  one  you  have  in 
'.  his ;  viz.,  the  common  endeavor  to  make  the  body  receive 
■.'ouble,  so  as  to  satisfy  both  itself  and  the  soul  too  with  its 
I  leasures.  The  effort  is,  how  continually,  to  stimulate  the 
I  ody  by  delicacies,  and  condiments,  and  sparkling  bowls, 
f»,nd  licentious  pleasures  of  all  kinds,  and  so  to  make  the 
loody  do  double  service.  Hence  too,  the  drunkenness,  and 
liigh  feasting,  and  other  vices  of  excess.  The  animals 
have  no  such  vices ;  because  they  have  no  hunger  save 
Bimply  that  of  the  body;  but  man  has  a  hunger  also  of 
the  mind  or  soul,  when  separated  from  God  by  his  sin, 
and  therefore  he  must  somehow  try  to  pacify  that.  And 
he  does  it  by  a  work  of  double  feeding  put  upon  the  body. 
We  call  it  sensuality.  But  the  body  asks  not  for  it.  The 
body  is  satisfied  by  simply  that  which  allows  it  to  grow 
and  maintain  its  vigor.  It  is  the  unsatisfied,  hungry  mind 
that  flies  to  the  body  for  some  stimulus  of  sensation,  com- 
pelling it  to  devour  so  many  more  of  the  husks,  or  carobs, 
as  will  feci  the  hungry  prodigal  within.  Thus  it  is  that 
so  mau}^  dissipated  youth  are  seen  plunging  into  pleasures 
of  excess, — midnight  feastings  and  surfeitings,  debauche- 
ries of  lust  and  impiety ;  it  is  because  they  are  hungry, 
because  their  soul,  separated  from  God  and  the  true  bread 
of  life  in  Him,  aches  ff  r  the  hunger  it  suffers.  And  so  it 
is  the  world  over ;  men  are  hungry  everywhere,  and  the;y 
compel  the  bod}^  to  make  a  swine's  heaven  fijr  the  f-'nniort 
of  the  rrodlike  soul. 


THE    irUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL.  7ft 

Again  we  see  the  hunger  of  sin,  by  the  immense  number 
oi  drudges  there  are  in  the  world.  It  makes  little  diS'er- 
3nce,  generalh',  whether  men  are  poor  or  rich.  Some  ter- 
rible hunger  is  upon  them,  and  it  drives  them  madly  for- 
ward, through  burdens,  and  sacrifices,  and  toils,  that  would 
be  r;mk  oppression  put  upon  a  slave.  It  is  not  simply 
that  they  are  industrious — ^industry  is  a  virtue — but  they 
{ire  drudges,  instigated  by  such  a  passion  of  want  that  they 
are  wholly  unable  to  moderate  their  plans  by  any  term.s 
of  reason. 

You  see  too  what  indicates  the  uneasiness  of  this  hunger, 
in  the  constant  shifting  of  their  plans  and  arrangements. 
Even  the  more  constant,  stable  characters,  such  as  hold 
most  firmly  to  their  pursuits,  are  yet  seen  to  be  uneasy  in 
them ;  comforting  their  uneasiness  by  one  change  or  an- 
other ;  a  new  kind  of  crop,  a  new  partner,  a  new  stand,  a 
wheeling  about  of  counters,  or  a  change  of  shelves,  or  a 
different  way  of  transportation,  or  another  place  of  bank- 
ing,— nothing  is  ever  quite  right,  because  they  are  too  un- 
easy in  their  hunger  to  be  quiet  long  in  any  thing. 

Others  show  their  hunger  by  their  closeness ;  the  very 
look  of  their  face  is  hungry,  the  gripe  of  their  hand  is 
hungry,  the  answer  of  their  charity  is  the  answer  of  hun- 
ger, the  prices  they  pay  for  service  are  the  grudged  allow- 
ance of  a  heart  that  is  pinched  by  its  own  stringent 
destitution. 

Observe  again  the  quarrels  of  debt  and  credit,  the  false 
weights,  the  fraudulent  charges,  the  habitual  lies  of  false 
recommendation,  the  arts,  stratagems,  oppressions,  of 
trade, — liow  hungry  do  they  look. 

Notice  again  how  men  contrive,  in  one  way  or  another 
to  get,  if  possible,  some  food  of  content  for  the  soul  that 


so  THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL. 

has  a  finer  and  more  fit  quality  than  the  swine's  fcod  with 
Y/liicli  tliey  so  often  overtask  the  body; — honor,  powcij 
a(imiration,  flattery,  society,  literary  accomplish  jients. 
Works  of  genius  are  stimulated,  how  often,  by  a  kind  of 
Huperlative  hunger.  And  the  same  is  true  even  of  the  vii  • 
t  lies  that  connect  a  repute  of  moderation ;  such  as  temper- 
ance.  frugality,  plainness,  stoical  superiority  to  saffering;  a 
]dnd  of  subtle  hunger  for  some  consciousness  of  good  is 
tlie  secret  root  on  which  they  grow. 

There  is  no  end  to  the  diverse  arts  men  practice,  to  get 
^onie  food  for  their  soul,  and  to  whatever  course  they  turn 
themselves,  you  will  see,  as  clearly  as  possible,  that  they 
are  hungry.  Nay,  they  say  it  themselves.  What  sad  be- 
wailings  do  you  hear  from  them,  calling  the  world  ashes, 
wondering  at  the  poverty  of  existence,  fretting  at  the 
courses  of  Providence  and  blaming  their  hai'shness,  raging 
profanely  against  God's  appointments,  and  venting  their 
impatience  with  life,  in  curses  on  its  emptiness.  All  tins, 
you  understand,  is  the  hunger  they  are  in.  Feeding  on 
carobs  only,  as  they  do,  what  shall  we  expect  but  to  sec 
them  feed  impatiently  ? 

This  also,  you  will  notice  as  a  striking  evidence  that, 
however  well  they  succeed  in  the  providing  of  earth]_y 
things,  they  are  never  satisfied.  They  say  they  are  not, 
have  it  for  a  proveib  that  no  man  is,  or  can  be.  How 
ean  they  be  satisfied  wuth  lands,  or  money,  or  honor,  or 
any  finite  good,  when  their  hunger  is  infinite,  reaching 
after  God  and  the  fullness  of  his  infinite  life, — God,  w^ho  is 
the  object  of  their  intelligence,  their  love,  their  hope, 
their  worship;  the  comp]  3ment  of  f  neir  weakness,  the  crowy 
of  their  glor}^,  the  sublimity  of  their  rest  forever.  Sucb 
kind  of  hunL'"ei'  manifestly  could  not  be  satisfied  wjlh  a7i» 


THE     nUNGEE     OF    THE     SOUL.  81 

Suite  good,  and  therefore  ii  never  is.  Look  also  at  soni«j 
of  the  more  internal  and  experimental  evidences  sujjpliisd 
by  consciousness. 

Consider,  for  example,  tlie  vice  of  env/,  and  the  genera! 
propenseness  of  men  to  be  in  it.  There  are  verj  fev/  per- 
sons, however  generous  in  their  disposuions,  who  are  not 
sometimes  bitten  by  this  very  subtle  and  bitter  sin.  And 
the  root  of  this  misery  is  hunger  of  soul.  Envy  is  only  a 
malignant,  selfish  hunger,  casting  its  evil  eye  on  the  eleva- 
tion or  supposed  happiness  of  others.  The  bitterness  of  ii 
IS  not  simply  that  it  really  wants  what  others  have,  but 
that  the  soul,  gnawed  by  a  deep  spiritual  hunger  which  it 
thinks  not  of,  is  so  profoundly  embittered  that  every  kind 
of  good  it  looks  upon  rasps  it  with  a  feeling  of  torment, 
and  rouses  a  .degi'ce  of  impatience  and  ill  nature,  out  of  al] 
terms  of  reason.  It  is  the  feeling  of  a  prodigal,  or  spend 
thrift  who,  after  he  has  spent  all,  vents  his  ill  nature  on 
every  body  but  himself,  and  hates  the  good  possessed  by 
others,  because  it  is  not  his  own.  0,  how  many  humaii 
souls  are  gnawed  through  and  through,  all  their  lives  long, 
by  this  devilish  hunger,  envy. 

Kemorse  differs  from  envy  only  in  the  fact  that  the  soul 
here  turns  upon  itself,  just  as  they  say  it  is  the  principal 
distress  of  extreme  bodily  hunger,  that  the  organs  of  di- 
gestion begin  themselves  to  be  gnawed  and  digested,  in 
place  of  the  food  on  which  the  digestive  jDOwer  is  accus 
tonied  to  spend  its  energy.  Eemorse,  in  the  same  way> 
is  a  moral  1  anger  of  the  soal.  It  is  the  bitter  wail  of 
a  famisljed  immortality.  It  is  j^our  conscience  lashing 
your  ].erverse  will;  your  defrauded,  hungry  love  wecpiny 
its  dry,  pitchy  tears  on  tlie  desert  your  evil  life  iias  mad*; 
for  it.     It  is  your  whole  spiritual  nat  ^/;  famished  by  sin 


S2  THE    HUNGER    OF    THE    SOUL 

rauMeriiig  wratlifully,  and  groAding  like  a  cageo  lion  at 
the  bars  which  shut  liim  u]-)  to  himself.  And  as  bodil}? 
hunger  sometimes  causes  the  starving  man  to  see  dev^--S  in 
his  ravings,  so  this  hunger  of  remorse  fills  the  soul  •with 
angry  demons  and  ministers  of  vengeance,  waiting  to  exe 
cute  judgment.  Sleep  vanishes  not  seldom,  or  comes  only 
ui  dreams  that  scare  the  sleeper.  The  day  lags  heavily. 
The  look  is  on  the  ground.  The  walk  is  apart  and  silent, 
and  the  man  carries  a  load  under  which  he  stoops,  a  load 
of  selfish  regret  and  worldly  sorrov/,  that  worketh  death. 

Or,  if  we  speak  of  care,  the  corroding,  weary,  ever  mul- 
tiplying care,  of  which  you  are  every  day  complaining, 
what  again  is  this  but  your  hunger.  We  like  to  speak, 
however,  not  of  care,  but,  in  the  plural,  of  cares ;  for  these, 
we  imagine,  are  outside  of  us,  in  things,  not  in  ourselves. 
But  these  cares  are  all  in  ourselves,  and  of  ourselves,  and 
not  in  things  at  all, — things  are  not  cares ;  cares  are  only 
cravings  of  that  immortal  hunger  which  the  swine's  food 
of  earthly  things  can  not  satisfy.  You  say  in  them  all. 
what  shall  I  do,  for  I  perish  with  hunger?  You  look  up 
fi-ovn  the  bitter  husks  or  carobs,  and  say,  I  must  have  more 
and  better;  and  these  more  and  better  things  are  you i 
cares.  The  very  word  care  meant,  originally,  icant ;  and 
these  cares  are  nothing  but  the  wants  of  a  hungry  soul 
misnamed. 

Sometimes,  again,  your  feeling  takes  the  turn  of  disgust. 
You  are  disgusted  with  yourself  and  life,  and  all  the  em- 
ployments and  objects  of  your  pursuit,  disgusted  even  with 
your  pleasures.  How  insipid,  and  dry,  and  foolish  they 
appear.  An  air  of  distaste  settles  on  all  objects.  Thej 
are  all  husks,  acorns,  food  for  swine  and  not  for  men.  Just 
"^o  it  is  in  the  starvation  of  the  body.     It  creates  a  feve' 


THE     HUNGEK     OF    THE     SOUL.  83 

and,  in  that  fever,  appetite  dies.  And  this,  according!}'-, 
is  the  rankest  proof  of  hunger  in  the  soul,  that  it  has  rui: 
itself  dow  n  to  the  starvation  ponit  of  universal  disgust 
Life  is  cl  ^ap.  It  seems  a  very  dull  and  mean  thing  to 
live, — 05  to  live  a  prodigal  and  swine-herd's  life  it  certainly 
is.  Sometimes,  too,  your  disgust  turns  upon  your  own 
cbaracl.er  and  feeling;  your  ambition,  your  pride,  3'our 
very  thoughts,  and  you  ache  for  the  mortification,  that 
conies  upon  you.  My  ambition — how  low  it  creeps.  My 
[)ride — what  have  I,  or  am  I  to  be  proud  of  My  ver}- 
thoughts  are  all  trailing  in  the  dust,  and  the  dust  is  dry — 
0  God,  is  it  this  to  be  a  man ! 

I  might  speak  also  of  your  perpetual  irritations,  your 
•  tits  of  anger,  your  animosities,  your  jealousies,  your  gloomy 
hypochondriac  fears.  These  all,  at  bottom,  are  the  disturb- 
ances of  hunger  in  the  soul.  How  certainly  is  the  child 
irritable  when  it  is  hungry.  Even  the  placidity  of  infancy 
vanishes,  when  the  body  is  ravening  for  food.  So  it  is  with 
man.  He  is  irritable,  flies  to  fits  of  passion,  loses  self-gov- 
ernment, simply  because  the  placid  state  of  satisfaction  is 
wanting  in  his  higher  nature.  He  is  out  of  rest,  because 
of  his  immortal  hunger.  Three-quarters  of  the  ill  nature 
of  the  world  is  caused  by  the  flict,  that  the  soul,  without 
God,  is  empty,  and  so  out  of  rest.  We  charge  it,  more 
often  than  justice  requires,  to  some  fault  of  temperament; 
but  there  is  no  temperament  that  would  not  be  quieted 
and  evened  hy  the  fullness  of  God. 

Now  the  Spirit  of  God  will  sometimes  show  you,  in  an 
unwonted  manner,  the  secret  of  these  troubles ;  for  he  is 
the  interpreter  of  the  soul's  hunger.  He  comes  to  it  whis 
penug  inwardly  the  awful  secret  of  its  pains, —  'without 
God  and  without  hope  in  the  world.''     He  reminds  the 


8-4  THE     HUNGER     OF    THE     SOUL. 

prodigal  of  his  bad  history.  He  bids  the  swine-herd  looJi 
up  from  his  sensual  objects,  and  woi'ks,  and  rememboi 
his  home  and  his  Father;  tells  hmi  of  a  great  supper  pre- 
pared, and  that  all  things  are  now  ready,  and  bids  him 
come.  Conscious  of  the  deep  poverty  he  is  in,  conscious 
of  that  immortal  being  whose  deep  wants  have  been  ho 
long  denied,  wants  that  can  be  satisfied  only  by  the  essen- 
tial, eternal  participation  of  the  fidlness  of  God,  he  heaia 
a  gentle  voice  of  love  saying, — I  am  the  bread  of  life,  1 
am  the  living  bread  that  came  down  from  heaven.  K  any 
man  eat  of  this  bread  he  shall  live.  Are  there  none  of 
you  to  whom  this  voice  is  calling  now  ? 

I  v/ill  not  pursue  these  illustrations  further.  "Would 
that  all  my  hearers  could  but  open  their  minds  to  the  les- 
son they  teach.  I  know  almost  no  subject,  or  truth,  tha'. 
will  explain  so  many  things  in  the  uneasy  demonstrations 
of  mankind;  or  that,  to  any  thoughtful  person,  living 
without  God,  will  resolve  so  many  mysteries  concerning 
himself  Granting  simply  the  fact  that  God  is  the  want  of 
the  soul,  or  created  intelligence,  what  can  it  be,  separated 
from  God,  but  an  element  of  uneasiness  and  bitter  disturb- 
ance ?  If  the  soul,  as  a  vital  and  organic  nature,  requires 
this  divine  food,  or  nutriment,  to  sustain  it,  and  in  this 
highest,  vastest  want  gets  no  supply ;  what  else  can  you 
need  to  account  for  the  unrest  and  the  otherwise  inexplica- 
ble frustration  of  your  experience  ?  And  yet  how  many 
of  you,  goaded  by  this  torment  all  your  lives,  do  not  un- 
derstand it?  You  go  after  this  or  that  objective,  circum 
Btantial  good,  thrust  on,  as  in  some  kind  of  madness,  by 
the  terrible  impulsion  of  your  hungry  immortality ;  con- 
fessing, all  tue  time,  that  you  fail,  even  when,  in  form,  you 


THK     HUNGER     OF     THE     SOUL.  85 

siicccecij  and  sliowina  l)y  yonr  demonstrations  that  youi 
objects,  wliether  gained  or  lost,  have  no  reLation  to  yout 
want;  but  your  understandings  are  holden  from  any  true 
discoYcry  of  your  sin.  It  is  as  if  you  were  under  some 
dispossession,  even  as  the  Saviour  intimates  in  his  parable. 
He  looks  upon  the  prodigal  described,  as  one  that  has  lost 
his  reckoning,  or  his  reason;  and  when  he  discovers  the 
secret  of  his  misery,  speaks  of  him  as  just  then  having 
come  to  himself.  Could  you  come  thus  to  yourselves,  how 
quickly  would  you  cease  from  your  husks  and  return  to 
your  Father !  How  absurd  the  foll}^,  then,  of  any  attempt 
to  satisfy,  or  quiet  your  hunger,  by  any  inferior,  merely 
external  good ! 

O,  ye  prodigals,  young  and  old,  prodigals  of  all  namea 
and  degrees ;  ye  that  have  tasted  the  good  word  of  God, 
and  the  powers  of  the  world  to  come,  and  have  fallen  away ; 
ye  that  have  always  lived  in  the  minding  of  earthly  things , 
how  clear  is  it  here  that  no  swine's  food,  no  husks  of  money, 
pleasure,  show,  ambition,  can  feed  you ;  that  you  have  a 
divine  part  which  none,  or  all  of  these  dry  carobs  of  sin  can 
feed,  which  nothing  can  supply  and  satisfy  but  God 
hiinself? 

And  what  should  be  a  discovery  more  welcome  than 
this.  In  what  are  you  more  ennobled,  than  in  the  flxct 
that  you  are  related  thus,  inherently,  to  God ;  having  a 
nature  so  high,  wants  so  deep  and  vast,  that  only  he  can 
feed  them,  and  not  even  he  hj  any  bestowment  wliich  does 
act  include  the  bestowment  of  himself.  Would  you  wil- 
lingly exterminate  this  want  of  your  being,  and  so  be  rid 
eternally  of  this  hunger?  That  would  be  to  cease  from 
being  a  man  and  to  become  a  worm ;  and  even  that  worm^. 
i-cmenibering  what  it  was,  would  be  a  worm  gnawing  itself 


86  THE     HUNGER     OF     THE     SOUL. 

wiili  eternal  regrets.  No,  this  torment  that  you  feci  ij 
tlie  torment  of  your  greatness.  It  compliments  you  more, 
jven  by  its  cravings  and  its  shameful  humiliations,  than 
all  most  subtle  flatteries  and  highest  applauses.  Nay,  there 
Js  nothing  in  which  God  himself  exalts  you  more  than  by 
his  own  expostulation  when  he  says — "wherefore  do  you 
apend  your  money  for  that  which  is  not  bread,  and  your 
labor  for  Ihat  which  satisfieth  not ;  hearken  diligently  unto 
me  and  eat  ye  that  which  is  good.  Incline  your  ear  and 
come  unto  me,  hear  and  your  soul  shall  live."  Why  should 
we  humble  ourselves  to  so  many  things  that  are  ashes  and 
call  them  bread ;  doubling  our  bodily  pleasures  in  vices 
that  take  hold  on  hell ;  chasing  after  gains  with  cancerous 
appetite ;  torturing  our  invention  to  find  some  opiate  of 
society,  a,pplause,  or  show,  that  will  quiet  and  content  our 
unrest.  All  in  vain.  0,  ye  starving  minds,  hearken,  for 
one  hour,  to  this,  and  turn  yourselves  to  it  as  your  misery 
points  you, — God,  God,  God  alone,  is  the  true  food.  Ask 
it  thus  of  God  to  give  you  the  food  that  is  convenient  foi 
you,  and  he  gives  you  Himself.  And  that  is  bread,  bread 
of  life,  bread  of  eternity.  Take  it  for  j  our  true  supply, 
End  you  hunger  no  more. 


V. 

rHE   REASON   OF   FAITH. 

JoiLN'  vi.  86. — '■^  But  I  said  unto  you^  That  ye  aho  hav-. 
seen  lae  and  helieve  not^ 

It  is  the  grand  distinction  of  Christianity,  that  by  which 
It  is  separated  from  all  philosophies  and  schemes  of  mere 
ethics,  that  it  makes  its  appeal  to  faith  and  upon  that,  as  a 
fundamental  condition,  rests  the  promise  of  salvation.  Il 
\s  called  the  word  of  faith,  the  disciples  are  distinguished 
as  believers,  and  Christ  is  published  as  the  Saviour  of  them 
Lhat  believe. 

But  precisely  this,  which  is  the  boast  of  apostles,  is  the 
Rcandal  and  offense  of  men.  Were  the  word  any  thing 
but  a  word  of  fluth ;  a  word  of  rhetoric,  or  of  reason,  or  of 
ahsolute  philosophy,  or  of  ethics,  or  of  grammar  and  lexi- 
cography, they  could  more  easily  accept  it ;  but,  finding 
it  instead  a  word  of  fliith,  they  reject  and  scorn  it.  As  if 
tliere  were  some  merit,  or  could  be  some  dignity  in  faith  1 
What  is  it  but  an  arbitrary  condition,  imposed  to  humble 
our  self-respect,  or  trample  our  proper  intelligence  ?  Foi 
what  is  there  to  value  or  praise,  say  they,  in  the  mere  be- 
lief  of  any  thing  ?  K  we  hold  any  truth  by  our  reason, 
or  by  some  act  of  perception,  or  by  the  showing  of  suflS- 
eient  evidence,  what  need  of  holding  it  by  faith?  If  we 
undertake  to  hold  it  witliout  such  evidence,  what  is  our 
belief  in  it  but  a  surrender  of  our  proper  intelligence  7 

This  kind  of  logic,  so  common  as  even  to  be  the  cam 
of  our  times,  has  all  \\6  plausibility  in  its  own  defect  of 


88  THE     REASON    OF    FAITH. 

iiisiglit,  and  nothing' is  wantirg,  in  any  case,  to  lis  com 
plete  refutation,  but  simply  a  clue  understandirg  of  wLai 
faith  is,  and  what  the  office  it  lills.  In  this  view,  I  pro- 
pose a  discourse  on  the  reason  of  faith;  or  to  ahcwhoio  it  m 
ihai  we.  as  intelligent  beings^  are  called  to  believe:  rtrid  hoto, 
as  sinne7's,  toe  caii,  in  the  nature  cf  things,  le  saved  only  ij 
vjc  believe. 

I  select  the  particular  passage,  just  cited,  for  my  text, 
Biniply  because  it  sets  us  at  the  point  where  seenig  and 
believing  are  brought  together;  expecting  to  get  some  ad- 
vantage, as  regards  the  illustration  of  my  subject,  from  the 
mutual  reference  of  one  to  the  other,  as  held  in  such  prox- 
imity. In  this  verse,  (the  36th.)  they  are  brought  together 
as  not  being  united, — ye  have  seen  me  and  beheve  not. 
Shortly  after,  (in  the  40th  verse.)  they  are  brought  together 
as  being,  or  to  be  united, — every  one  that  seeth  the  Son 
and  believeth  on  him. 

Now  the  first  thing  we  observe,  for  it  stands  on  the  face 
of  the  language,  is  that  faith  is  not  sight,  but  something 
different;  so  different  that  we  may  see  and  not  believe. 
The  next  thing  is  that  sight  does  not,  in  the  scripture  view 
exclude  faith,  or  supersede  the  necessity  of  it,  as  the  com- 
mon cavil  supposes;  fo7',  after  sight,  faith  is  f^xpected. 
And  still,  a  third  point  is.  that  sight  is  supposed  even  to 
furnish  a  ground  for  faith,  making  it  obligatory  and,  where 
it  is  not  yielded,  inci easing  the  guilt  of  the  subject;  which 
appears,  both  in  the  complaint  of  one  verse  and  the  re- 
quirement of  the  other. 

Thus  much  in  regard  to  the  particular  e.rse  of  the  per 
eons  addressed ;  for  they  weiM  such  as  had  tlieraselves  seen 
Christ,  witnessed  his  miracles,   heard  his  teachings,  and 


TUF,     REASON     OF     FAITH.  89 

wntcLed  the  progress  of  Ins  ministry.  In  tlmt  respect,  oui 
case  is  different.  We  get,  by  historic  evidences,  wiiat  they 
got  by  their  senses.  The  attestations  we  have,  are  even 
more  reliable  evidences,  I  think,  than  those  of  sight ;  but 
they  bring  us  to  exactly  the  same  point,  viz.,  a  fettled  irn 
pression  of  fact.  That  such  a  being  lived  they  saw  with 
their  eyes,  and  we  are  satisfied  that  he  lived  by  other  evi- 
dences add]*essing  our  judging  faculty,  as  sight  addressed 
theirs.  We  take  their  case,  accordingly^,  as  the  case  pro- 
posed, and  shape  our  argument  to  it. 

Suppose  then  that  you  had  lived  as  a  contemporary  in 
the  days  of  Christ;  that  you  had  been  privy  to  the  dia- 
logue between  the  angel  and  Mary,  and  also,  to  all  the 
intercourse  of  Mary  and  Elizabeth ;  that  you  had  heard 
the  song  of  the  angels  at  the  nativity,  and  seen  their  shin- 
ing forms  in  the  sky ;  that  you  were  entirely  familiar  with 
the  youth  of  Jesus,  were  present  at  his  baptissn,  saw  him 
begin  his  ministry,  heard  all  his  discourses,  witnessed  all 
his  miracles,  stood  by  his  cross  in  the  hour  of  his  passion ; 
that  you  saw  him,  heard  him,  ate  with  him,  touched  him 
after  his  resurrection,  and  finally  beheld  his  ascension  from 
Olivet.  You  have  had,  in  other  words,  a  complete  sense- 
viev,''  of  him,  from  his  first  breath  onward.  What  now 
does  all  this  signify  to  you  ? 

Possibly  much,  possibly  nothing.  If  received  without 
any  kind  of  faith,  absolutely  nothing ;  if  with  two  kinds  of 
faith  which  are  universally  practiced,  it  signifies  the  great 
est  fact  of  history ;  if  with  a  third,  equally  rational  and  dis- 
tiuctively  Christian,  it  signifies  a  new  life  in  the  ioul,  and 
eternal  salvation. 

Let  us,  in  the  first  place,  look  at  these  two  kinds  of 

8* 


90  THE     REASON     OF     FAITH. 

faith  \^Licli  are  universally  practiced ;  for,  if  faith  is,  in  tQ« 
nature  of  things,  absurd  or  unintelligent,  we  shall  be  as 
likely  to  discover  the  fact  here  as  anywhere.  And  we 
may  discover,  possibly,  that  the  very  persons  who  discard 
faith,  as  an  offense  to  intelligence,  are  not  even  able  to  do 
(liG  commonest  acts  of  intelligence  without  it. 

AVe  begin,  then,  with  the  case  of  sight,  or  perception 
by  sight.  It  has  been,  as  some  of  you  know,  a  great,  or 
even  principal  question  with  our  philosophers,  for  the  last 
hundred  years,  and  these  are  commonly  the  people  most 
ready  to  complain  of  faith,  how  it  is  that  we  perceive 
objects?  The  question  was  raised  by  Berkeley's  denial 
that  we  see  them  at  all,  which,  though  it  convinced  no- 
body, puzzled  every  body.  He  said,  for  example,  that  the 
persons  who  saw  Christ  did  not  really  see  him,  they  had 
only  certain  pictures  cast  in  the  back  of  the  eye ;  which 
pictures,  he  maintained,  were  mere  subjective  impressions, 
nothing  more ;  that,  by  the  supposition,  spectators  are  never 
at  the  objects,  but  only  at  the  images,  which  are  all,  intel- 
lectually speaking,  they  know  any  thing  about.  If  they 
take  it  as  a  fact,  that  they  see  real  objects,  they  do  it  by  .a 
naked  act  of  assumption,  and,  for  aught  that  appeary. 
impose  upon  themselves.  The  question,  accordingly,  ha-^ 
been,  not  whether  real  objects  are  perceived,  for  that  is  net 
often  questioned  now,  but  how  we  can  imagine  them  to 
be ;  how,  in  other  words,  it  is  that  we  bridge  the  gulf  be- 
tween sensations  and  their  objects;  how  it  is  that,  having 
a  tree-picture  or  a  star-picture  in  the  back  of  the  eye,  we 
make  it  to  be  a  tree,  really  existing  on  some  distant  hill, 
or  a  real  star,  filling  its  measurable  space  many  hundred 
millions  of  miles  distant?  Some  deny  the  possibility  ot 
any  solution ;  reducing  even  sight  itself  and  all  that  we  call 


THE     REASON     OF    FAITH.  91 

evideuco  in  it  to  a  mystery  forever  transcending  mtclli 
gence.  The  best  solutions  agree  virtually  in  this: — they 
conceive  the  soul  to  be  sucli  a  creature  that,  when  it  hm 
tliese  forms  in  the  eye,  it  takes  them,  as  it  were,  instinct 
ively,  to  be  more  than  forms,  viz.,  objects  perceived; 
wliich  is  the  same  as  to  say  tliat  we  complete  sensation  itself, 
or  issue  it  in  perception,  by  assigning  reality  ourselves  to  tho 
distant  object.  And  what  is  this,  but  to  say  that  we  do  it  by 
a  kind  of  sense-faith  contributed  from  ourselves?  In  our 
very  seeing  we  see  by  feith,  and,  without  the  faith,  we  should 
only  take  in  impressions  to  remain  as  last  things  in  the 
brain.  Hence,  perhaps,  the  word  perception^  a  through-tak- 
ing, because  we  have  taken  hold  of  objects  through  dis- 
tances, and  so  have  bridged  the  gulf  between  us  and  real- 
ity. Is  then  sight  itself  unintelligent,  because  it  includes 
an  act  of  faith?  Or,  if  we  believe  in  realities,  and  have 
thein  by  believing,  would  it  be  wiser  and  more  rational  to 
let  alone  realities  and  live  in  figures  and  phantasms,  painted 
on  the  retina  of  our  eyes  ? 

But  there  is  another  kind  of  faith,  less  subtle  than  thia 
which  also  is  universally  practiced,  and  admitted  univers- 
ally to  be  intelligent.  It  is  that  kind  of  faith  which,  af- 
ter sensation  is  passed,  or  perception  is  completed,  assign? 
truth  to  the  things  seen,  and  takes  them  to  be  sound  his' 
toric  verities.  Thus,  after  Christ  had  been  seen  in  all  the 
facts  of  his  life,  it  became  a  distinct  question  what  to  mal^  c 
of  the  facts  ;  whether  possibly  there  could  have  been  some 
conspiracy  in  the  miracles ;  some  collusion,  or  acting  in 
the  parts  of  Mary  and  her  son ;  some  self-imposition,  oi 
hallucination  that  will  account  for  his  opinions  of  himself 
and  tlie  remark ab.e  pretensions  he  put  forth ;    whethei 


92  THE     REASON    OF    FAITH. 

possibly,  there  was  any  mistake  in  tlie  senses,  or  any  slighl 
of  hand  by  which  they  were  imposed  upon  ?  Before,  tl\e 
difficulty  was  natural,  and  related  to  the  laws  of  sensation. 
Here  it  is  moral,  and  respects  the  verity,  or  integrity  of 
the  agents.  For  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  the  mere  seeing 
of  any  wonder  never  concludes  the  mind  of  the  spectator, 
liow  many,  for  example,  are  testifying,  in  our  time,  that  thej; 
have  seen,  with  their  own  eyes,  the  most  fantastic  and  ex- 
travagant wonders  wrought  by  the  modern  necromancy; 
and  yet  they  very  commonly  conclude  by  saying,  that  the;y 
know  not  what  to  make  of  them;  evidently  doubting 
v/hcther,  after  all,  the  slight  of  hand  tricks  of  jugglery 
ventriloquism,  and  magic,  and  the  sometimes  wondroua 
cunning  of  a  lying  character,  will  not  account  for  all  they 
saw.  These  doubts  are  not  the  ingenious  doubts  of  23hi 
losophy,  but  the  practical  misgivings,  questions  and  with- 
lioklings  of  good  sense.  And  here,  again,  we  perceive,  as 
before,  that  the  mere  seeing  of  Christ  concludes  nothing 
in  the  spectator,  as  regards  his  verity.  He  does  not  stand 
before  the  mind  as  a  necessary  truth  of  arithmetic  or  ge- 
ometry ;  there  the  seeing  ends  debate,  the  mind  is  ipso  facto 
concluded  and  there  is  no  room  for  faitli,  either  to  be  given 
or  witbholden.  As  the  philosopher  doubted  whether  the 
objects  seen  had  any  real  existence  out  of  him,  so  the 
practical  spectator  doubts,  after  all  Christ's  wonders, 
whether  every  thing  was  genuine,  and  the  Christ  who  lived 
just  such  a  being  as  he  seemed  to  be.  Probably  the  evi- 
dence, to  one  who  saw,  was  as  perfect  as  it  could  be ;  but 
it  we  could  imagine  it  to  be  increased  in  quantity  and 
power  a  thousand  fold,  remaining  the  same  in  kind,  tlic 
mere  seeing  would  conclude  nothing.  All  you  could  saj 
in  such  a  case  would  be  that  a  given  impression  has  be(n; 


THE     REASON     OF     FAITH.  91^ 

made,  but  tliat  impression  is  practically  naugut,  till  an 
act  of  intellectual  assent,  or  credence,  is  added  on  youi 
part,  w.liieh  act  of  assent  is  also  anotlier  kind  of  faith.  11 
God  were  to  burn  himself  into  souls  by  lenses  bigger  than 
worlds,  all  you  could  say  would  be  tliat  so  much  impres- 
i^ion  is  made,  which  impression  is  no  historic  verity  to  the 
mind,  till  the  mind  assents,  on  its  part,  and  concludes  itself 
upon  the  impression.  Then  the  impression  becomes,  to  it, 
a  real  and  historic  fact,  a  sentence  of  credit  passed. 

We  now  come  to  the  Christian,  or  third  kind  of  fldth, 
with  some  advantages  already  gained.  Indeed,  the  argu- 
ment against  faith,  as  an  offense  to  reason,  or  as  being  insig- 
nificant where  there  is  evidence,  and  absurd  where  there  is 
not,  is  already  quite  ended.  We  discover,  in  fact,  two  de- 
grees or  kinds  of  faith,  going  before  and  typifying  and  com- 
mending to  our  respect  the  higher  faith  that  is  to  come  after, 
AS  a  faith  of  salvation.  We  discover,  also,  that  we  can  not 
even  do  the  commonest  acts  of  intelligence  without  some 
kind  of  faith.  First,  we  complete  an  act  of  perception  only 
by  a  kind  of  sense-faith,  moving  fr'om  ourselves,  and  not 
from  the  objects  perceived.  Next,  we  pass  on  the  historic 
verity,  the  moral  genuineness  of  what  we  see,  and  our  act  of 
C3'edit,  so  passed,  is  also  a  kind  of  faith  moving  from  us,  and 
is  something  over  and  above  all  the  impressions  we  have 
received.  A  third  faith  remains  that  is  just  as  intelligent 
and,  in  fact,  is  only  more  intelligent  than  the  others,  be- 
caviso  it  carries  their  results  forward  into  the  true  uses. 

This,  distinctively,  is  the  scripture  faith, the  faith  of  sal- 
vation, the  believing  unto  life  eternal.  It  begins  jusi 
where  the  other  and  last  named  faith  ended.  That  decidc( 
the  greatest  fact  of  history,  viz  ,  that  Christ  pctually  iras 


94  THE     REASON     OF     FAITH. 

according  to  all  his  demonstrations.  It  passed  on  the  genu- 
ine truth  of  those  demonstrations,  and  set  them  as  accred* 
ited  to  the  account  of  history.  Let  every  thing  stop  at  thai 
point,  and  we  only  have  a  Christ,  just  as  we  have  a  Gua- 
timozin,  or  a  Sardanapalus.  The  christian  facts  are  stored 
in  history,  and  are  scarcely  more  significant  to  us,  than  if 
they  were  stored  in  the  moon.  What  is  wanted,  just  here, 
jn  the  case  of  Christ,  and  what  also  is  justified  and  even 
required  by  the  facts  of  his  life,  is  a  faith  that  goes  beyond 
the  mere  evidence  of  propositions,  or  propositional  veritiea 
about  Christ,  viz.,  the  faith  of  a  transaction  ;  and  this  faith 
is  Christian  faith.  /;;  is  the  act  of  trust  hy  which  one  heing^ 
a  sinner^  commits  himself  to  another  heing^  a  Saviour.  It  ia 
not  mind  dealing  with  notions,  or  notional  truths.  It  is 
what  can  not  be  a  proposition  at  all.  But  it  is  being  trust- 
ing itself  to  being,  and  so  becoming  other  and  different, 
by  a  relation  wholly  transactional. 

If  a  man  comes  to  a  banker  with  a  letter  of  credit  from 
some  other  banker,  that  letter  may  be  read  and  seen  to  be 
a  real  letter.  The  signature  also  may  be  approved,  and 
the  credit  of  the  drawing  party  honored  by  the  other,  as 
being  wholly  reliable.  So  far  what  is  done  is  merely  opin- 
ionative  or  notional,  and  there  is  no  transactional  faith 
And  3^et  there  is  a  good  preparation  for  this ;  just  that  .'.s 
lione  which  makes  it  intelligent.  When  the  receiving  party, 
therefore,  accepts  the  letter  and  intrusts  himself  actually 
to  the  drawing  party  in  so  much  money,  there  is  the  real 
act  of  faith,  an  act  which  answers  to  the  operative,  oi 
transactional  faith  of  a  disciple. 

Another  and  perhaps  better  illustration  may  be  taken 
fr'om  the  patient  or  sick  person,  as  related  to  his  physician. 
He  sends  fo^  °  r)h3^sician,  just  because  he  has  been  led  to 


THE     REASON     OF     FAITH.  95 

hi,Ye  a  certain  favorable  opinion  of  his  faithful neso  and 
capacity.  But  the  suffering  him  to  feel  his  pulse,  iDvesti- 
gate  his  sj^mptoms,  and  tell  the  diagnosis  of  his  disease, 
nnports  nothing.  It  is  on\j  the  committing  of  his  beinjj 
and  life  to  this  ether  being,  consenting  to  receive  and  tak.'. 
his  medicines,  that  imports  a  real  faith,  the  faith  of  a 
transaction. 

In  the  same  manner  Christian  faith  is  the  faith  rf  a 
transaction.  It  is  not  the  committing  of  one's  thought, 
in  assent  to  any  proposition,  but  the  trusting  of  one's  be- 
ing to  a  being,  there  to  be  rested,  kept,  guided,  molded, 
t'overned  and  possessed  forever. 

In  this  faith  many  things  are  pre-supposed,  many  in- 
cluded ;  and,  after  it,  many  will  follow. 

Every  thing  is  presupposed  that  makes  the  act  intelh- 
gent  and  rational.  That  Christ  actually  lived  and  wa? 
what  he  declared  himself  to  be.  That  he  was  no  othei 
than  the  incarnate  Word  of  the  Father.  That  he  came 
into  the  world  to  recover  and  redeem  it.  That  he  is  able 
to  do  it ;  able  to  forgive,  regenerate,  justify  and  set  in  eter- 
nal peace  with  God,  and  that  all  we  see,  in  his  passion,  is 
a  true  revelation  of  God's  feeling  to  the  world. 

There  was  also  a  certain  antecedent  improbability  of  ijiy 
such  holy  visitation,  or  regenerative  grace,  which  jas  1x"> 
1)6  liquidated  or  cleared,  before  the  supposed  faith  can  be 
t'.ansacted.  We  live  in  a  state  under  sin,  where  causes  aie 
running  against  us,  or  running  destructively  in  us.  Wa 
have  also  a  certain  scientific  respect  to  causes,  and  expect 
them  to  continue.  But  Christ  comes  into  the  world,  as  one 
not  under  the  scheme  of  causes.  He  declares  that  he  is  not 
ji  the  world,  but  is  from  above.     He  undertakes  to  verify 


96  THE     REASON     OF     FAITH. 

his  claim  by  his  miracles,  and  his  miracles  by  his  transcend- 
ent character.  Assuming  all  the  attributes  of  a  powei 
supernatural,  he  declares  that  he  can  take  us  out  of  nature 
and  deliver  us  of  the  bad  causes  loosened  by  our  sm 
Now  that  he  really  is  such  a  being,  having  such  a  power 
supernatural,  able  thus  to  save  unto  the  uttermost,  vv^e 
are  to  have  accredited,  before  we  can  trust  ourselves  to  him. 

But  this  will  be  less  difficult,  because  we  are  urged  hy 
such  a  sense  of  bondage  under  sin,  and  have  such  loads  of 
conscious  want,  brokenness  nnd  helplessness  upon  us. 
Besides,  if  we  look  again  inttj  our  disorders,  we  find  that 
they  are  themselves  abnonual,  disturbances  only,  by  our 
sin,  of  the  pure  and  orderly  liarniony  of  causes;  so  that 
Christ,  in  restoring  us,  does  not  break  u]-),  but  only  recom- 
poses  the  true  order  of  nature.  Inasmuch,  therefore,  as 
our  salvation,  or  deliverance  from  evil,  implies  a  restora- 
tion, and  not  any  breach  of  nature,  the  incredible  thing 
appears  to  be  already  done  by  sin  itself,  and  the  credible, 
the  restoration  only,  remains. 

Having  now  all  this  previous  matter  cleared,  we  come 
to  the  transactional  faith  itself.  We  commit  ourselves  to 
the  Lord  Jesus,  by  an  act  of  total  and  eternal  trust,  which 
is  our  faith.  The  act  is  intelligent,  because  it  is  intelli- 
gently prepared.  It  is  not  absurd,  as  being  somxCthing 
more  than  evidence.  It  is  not  superseded  by  evidence. 
It  is  like  the  banker's  acceptance,  and  the  patient's  taking 
of  medicine,  a  transactional  faith  that  follows  evidence 

Tlie  matters  inclvded  in  this  act,  for  of  these  we  will  now 
speak,  are  the  surrender  of  our  mere  self-care,  the  ceasing 
to  live  from  our  own  point  of  separated  will,  a  complete 
admission  of  the  mind  of  Christ,  a  consenting  practically 


THE     KEASON    OF     FAITH.  9i 

to  be  modulated  by  bis  motives  and  aims,  and  to  live,  aa 
it  were,  infolded  in  bis  spirit.  It  is  committing  one's  cbar- 
acter  wlioll}  to  tbe  living  cbaracter  of  Jesus,  so  tbat  every 
willing  and  working  and  sentiment  sball  be  pliant  to  bia 
superior  mind  and  spirit;  just  as  a  man,  trusting  bimself 
to  some  superior  man,  in  a  total  and  complete  confidence 
allows  tbat  otber  to  flow  down  upon  bim,  assimilate  bim, 
and,  as  far  as  be  may,  witb  a  superiority  so  sligbt,  conform 
bim  to  ibe  subject  of  bis  trust.  Only  tbere  is,  in  tbe  faitb 
of  salvation,  a  trusting  in  Cbrist  vastly  more  interior  aud 
searcbing,  a  presence  internal  to  parts  internal,  a  complete 
batbing  of  tbe  trusting  soul  in  Cbrist's  own  love  and 
beauty. 

Tbose  tilings,  wbicb  were  just  now  named  as  pre-sup- 
posed  matters,  are  all  opinionative  and  prior  to  tbis  wbicb 
is  tbe  real  faitb,  and  tbis  faitb  must  go  beyond  all  mere 
bistoric  credences  of  opinion ;  it  must  include  tbe  actual 
surrender  of  tbe  man  to  tbe  Saviour.  It  must  even  in- 
clude tbe  eternity  or  finality  of  tbat  surrender;  for  if  it 
is  made  only  as  an  experiment,  and  tbe  design  is  only  to 
try  wbat  tbe  Saviour  will  do,  tben  it  is  experiment,  not 
faitb.  Any  tbing  and  every  tbing  wbicb  is  necessary  to 
^rnake  tbe  soul  a  total,  final  deposit  of  trust  in  tbe  Lord 
Jesus,  must  be  included  in  tbe  faitb,  else  it  is  not  faitb,  and 
can  not  bave  tbe  power  of  foitb.  It  must  be  as  if,  bence- 
fortb,  tbe  subject  saw  bis  every  tbing  in  Cbrist,  bis  rigbt- 
eousness,  bis  wbole  cbaracter,  bis  life-work  and  deatb* 
struggle,  and  tbe  bope  of  bis  eternity. 

How  great  is  tbe  transaction !  and  great  results  tviU  follow, 
sucb  us  tbese : — 

He  will  be  as  one  possessed  by  Cbrist,  (treated  anew  in 

9 


5^8  THE     REASON     <J  F     FAITH 

Christ  Jesus.  There  will  be  a  Christ-powei  j-esting  iipoi 
him  and  operative  in  him  •  an  immediate  knowledge  of 
Christy  as  a  being  revealed  in  the  consciousness.  A  Christly 
character  will  come  over  him,  and  work  itself  into  hiin, 
AU  his  views  of  life  will  be  changed.  The  old  disturb 
ance  will  be  settled  into  loving  order,  and  a  conscious  and 
sweet  peace  will  flow  down,  like  a  divine  river,  through 
the  soul,  watering  all  its  dryness.  It  will  be  in  liberty, 
free  to  good ;  wanting  only  opportunities  to  do  God's  will. 
Fear  will  be  cast  out,  confidence  established,  hope  anchored, 
and  all  the  great  eternity  to  come  taken  possession  of. 
Christ  will  constrain  every  motion,  in  such  a  way  that 
no  constraint  shall  be  felt,  and  the  new  man  will  be  so 
exhilarated  in  obedience,  and  raised  so  high  in  the  sense 
of  God  upon  him,  that  sacrifice  itself  will  be  joy,  and  the 
fires  of  martyrdom  a  chariot  to  the  victor  soul. 

But  the  most  remarkable,  because  to  some  the  most 
unaccountable  and  extravagant  result  of  faith,  is  the  crea- 
tion of  new  evidence.  The  exercise  of  faith  is  itself  a 
proving  of  the  matter,  or  the  being  trusted.  It  requires, 
in  order  to  make  it  intelligent,  some  evidence  going  before: 
and  then  more  evidence  will  follow,  of  still  another  kind. 
As  in  trying  a  physician,  or  trusting  one's  life  to  him,  new 
evidence  is  obtained  from  the  successful  management  of 
the  disease,  so  the  soul  that  trusts  itself  to  Christ  knows 
him  with  a  new  kind  of  knowledge,  that  is  more  immedi- 
ate and  clear,  knows  him  as  a  friend  revealed  within,  knows 
him  as  the  real  power  of  God,  even  God  in  sacrifice.  He 
that  believeth  hath  the  witness  in  himself, — the  proof  of 
Jesus,  in  him,  is  made  out  and  verified  by  trust.  Ever); 
thing  in  that  text  of  sciipture,  that  stumbles  so  many  of 
our  wise  reasoners.  is  verified  to  the  letter : — Now  faith  13 


THE     REASON     OF     FAITH,  9G 

the  subiitaiicu  of  things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  thiuga 
not  seen.  It  is  not  said  that  faith  goes  before  all  evidence, 
but  that,  coming  after  some  evidence,  it  discovers  more 
and  greater.  It  makes  substance  of  what  before  stood  in 
h.Dpe ;  it  proves  things  unseen  and  knows  them  by  the  im- 
mediate evidence  of  their  power  in  the  soul.  Hence  it  k 
that  fai:h  is  described,  everywhere,  as  a  state  so  intensely 
luminous.  Trust  in  God  will  even  prove  him  to  be,  moie 
inevitably  and  gloriously  than  all  scientific  arguments. 
The  taking  immortality  by  trust  and  acting  one's  mighty 
nature  into  it  proves  it,  as  it  were,  by  the  contact  of  it. 
The  faith  itself  evidences  the  unseen  life,  when  ail  previ- 
ous evidences  wore  a  questionable  look.  And  so  the  whole 
Christian  life  becomes  an  element  of  light,  because  tlie 
trust  itself  is  an  experience  of  Christ  and  of  God. 

And  so  truly  intelligent  is  the  process,  that  it  answers 
exactl}^,  in  a  higher  plane,  to  the  process  of  perception 
itself,  already  referred  to.  For  when  objects,  that  cast 
their  picture  in  the  eye,  are  accepted  and  trusted  to  as 
being  more  than  pictures,  solid  realities,  then,  by  that  faith, 
is  begun  a  kind  of  experiment.  Taking,  now,  all  these 
objects  to  be  realities,  we  go  into  all  the  practical  uses  of 
life,  handling  them  as  if  realities,  and  so,  finding  how  they 
support  all  our  uses  and  show  themselves  to  be  what  wo 
took  them  for,  we  say  that  we  know  them  to  be  real,  hav- 
ing found  them  by  our  trust.  Exactly  so,  only  in  a  much 
higher  and  nobler  sense,  it  is  that  faith  is  the  substance 
of  things  hoped  for,  and  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen. 
Is  there  any  thing  in  this  which  scandalizes  intelligence? 
r  think  not. 

If  now  you.  have  followed    me,  in  these  illust]'atJon8( 


100  THE  REASON  OF  FAITH. 

«vhich  I  know  are  somewhat  abstruse,  you  will  not  com- 
plain of  their  abstruseness,  but  will  be  glad,  bj  any  means, 
Lo  escape  from  those  difficulties  which  have  been  gathered 
round  the  subject  of  faith,  by  the  unilluminated  and  super- 
fiial  speculations  of  our  times.  Handling  the  subject 
more  superficially,  I  might  have  seemed  to  some  to  do 
more,  but  should,  in  fact,  have  done  nothing.  Let  ua 
gather  up  now,  in  closing,  some  of  the  lessons  it  yields. 
And— 

1.  The  mistake  is  here  corrected  of  those,  who  are  con- 
tinually assuming  that  the  gospel  is  a  theorem,  a  some- 
thing to  be  thought  out,  and  not  a  new  premise  of  fact 
communicated  by  God, — by  men  to  be  received  in  all 
the  three-fold  gradations  of  ftiith.  To  mill  out  a  scheme 
of  free  will  and  responsibility,  to  settle  metaphysically 
questions  of  ability  and  inability,  to  show  the  scheme  of 
regeneration  as  related  to  a  theory  of  sin  and  not  to  the 
conscious  fact,  may  all  be  very  ingenious  and  we  may  call 
it  gospel ;  but  it  is  scarcely  more  than  a  form  of  rational- 
ism. Feeding  on  such  kind  of  notional  and  abstract  wis- 
dom, and  not  on  Christ,  the  bread  that  came  down  from 
heaven,  we  grow,  at  once,  more  ingenious  in  the  head,  and 
more  shallow  in  the  heart,  and,  in  just  the  compound  ratio 
of  both,  more  naturalistic  and  sceptical.  Loosing  out  our 
rol)ustness,  in  this  manner,  and  the  earnestness  of  our 
i^jjiritual  convictions,  our  ministry  becomes,  in  just  the 
aame  degree,  more  ambitious  and  more  untransformlng  to 
tiio  people,  and  the  danger  is  that,  finally,  even  the  sense 
of  religion,  as  a  gift  of  God,  a  divine  light  in  the  soul^ 
revealed  from  faith  to  faith,  will  quite  die  out  and  be  lost 
Our  gospel  will  be  nature,  and  our  faith  will  be  reason, 
and    the   true   Christ  will   be   nothing, — all   the   grand 


THE     REASON    OF    FAITH.  101 

life-giving-  tnitns  of  the  incarnate  appearing  and  cross  arc. 
resolved  into  myths  and  legends. 

2.  We  discover  that  the  requirement  of  faith,  as  a  con- 
dition of  salvation,  is  not  arbitrary,  as  mariy  appear  to 
iiuppose,  but  is  only  a  declaration  of  tlie  fact,  before  exist- 
ing, that  without  faith  there  can  be  no  deliverance  from 
sin.  The  precise  difficulty  with  us  in  our  sin  is,  that  wc 
can  not  make  oui-selves  good  and  happy  b}^  acting  on  our 
selves.  Faith,  accordingly,  is  not  required  of  us,  because 
Christ  wants  to  humble  us  a  little,  as  a  kind  of  satisfaction 
for  letting  go  the  penalty  of  our  sins,  but  because  we  can 
not  otherwise  be  cleared  of  them  at  all.  What  we  want 
is  God,  God  whom  we  have  lost ;  to  be  united,  being  to 
being,  sinner  to  Saviour;  thus  to  be  quickened,  raised  up, 
and  made  again  to  partake,  as  before  sin,  the  divine  nature. 
And,  for  just  this  reason,  faith  is  required;  for  we  como 
into  the  power  of  God  only  as  we  trust  ourselves  to  him 
And  here  it  is,  at  this  precise  point,  that  our  gospel  excels 
all  philosophies,  proving  most  evidently  its  divine  origin. 
It  sees  the  problem  as  it  is,  and  shows,  in  the  requirement 
of  faith  as  the  condition  of  salvation,  that  it  comprehends 
the  whole  reason  of  our  state.  It  has  the  sagacity  to  see 
that,  plainly,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  raising  of  man, 
without  God;  also  that  there  is  no  God  save  as  we  find 
h.im  by  our  trust,  and  have  him  revealed  within,  b}''  rest- 
ing oui  eternit}^  on  him.  And  hence  it  is  that  all  those 
Bcnpture  forms  of  imputation  spring  up,  as  a  necessary 
language  of  faith,  under  the  gospel.  We  come,  in  our 
trust,  unto  God,  and  the  moment  we  so  embrace  him,  by 
committing  our  total  being  and  eternity  to  him,  we  find 
eve^y  thing  in  us  transformed.  There  is  life  in  us  from 
God ;   a  kind  of  Christ-cons(;iousness   is  opened   in    us, 


i02  THE    REASON     OF    FAITH. 

testifying,  with  the  apostle, — Christ  livetb  in  me.  We  see^ 
therefore,  in  hhn,  the  store  of  all  gifts  and  graces.  Everj 
thing  flows  down  upon  us  from  him,  and  so  we  begin  to 
speak  of  being  washed,  sanctified,  justified,  in  him.  lie  '■£ 
our  peace,  our  ligHt,  our  bread ;  the  way,  the  tnzth,  and  the 
life.  And,  in  just  the  same  manner,  lie  is  our  righteous- 
ness ;  for  he  is,  so  to  speak,  a  soul  of  everlasting  integrity 
for  us,  and  when  we  come  in  to  be  with  him,  he  becomes 
in  us  what  he  is  to  himself.  We  are  new  created  and 
clothed  in  righteousness,  from  his  glorious  investiture. 
The  righteousness  of  God,  which  is,  by  faith  of  Jesns 
Christ,  unto  all  and  upon  all  them  that  believe,  is  upon  us, 
and  the  very  instinct  of  our  faith,  looking  unto  God  in 
this  conscious  translation  of  his  nature  to  us,  is  to  call  him 
The  Lord  our  Eighteousness,  the  justifier  of  him  that 
believeth  in  Jesus. 

Such  now,  my  friends  is  faith.  It  gives  you  God,  fills 
you  with  God  in  immediate  experimental  knowledge,  puts 
70U  in  possession  of  all  there  is  in  him,  and  allows  you 
to  be  invested  with  his  character  itself  Is  such  faith  a 
burden,  a  hard  and  arbitrary  requirement?  Why,  it  is 
your  only  hope,  your  only  possibility.  Shall  this  most 
grand  and  blessed  possibility  be  rejected?  So  far  it  has 
been,  and  you  have  even  been  able,  it  may  be,  in  your 
lightness,  to  invent  ingenious  reasons  against  any  such 
plan  of  salvation.  God  forbid  that  you  do  not  some  time 
take  the  penalty  of  having  just  that  salvation  without 
fliith  to  work  out  which  you  so  blindly  approve ! 

3.  We  perceive,  in  our  subject,  that  mere  impressions 
can  never  amount  to  faith.  At  this  point,  the  unbelievers 
and  all  such  as  are  waiting  to  have  conductions  and  spiritual 
impressions  wrought  in  them  that  amount  to  faith,  perfc  ctl  j 


THE    KEASON    OF     FAITH.  lOfl 

agree,  Tlie  unbelievers  and  eavillers  say  that  impressions, 
taken  as  evidences,  are  every  tiling,  and  that,  over  and 
above  these,  faith  is  nonsense.  You  that  are  waiting  to  be 
m  faith,  by  nirrely  having  j^our  convictions  and  feelings 
intensiiied,  say  the  same  thing ;  for  j^ou  expect  your  im- 
[Tessions  to  coalesce  in  faith,  and  so  to  be  faith.  That,  aa 
we  have  seen  already,  is  forever  impossible.  Faith  is  more 
than  impression ;  it  moves  from  you,  it  is  the  trusting  of 
your  being,  in  a  total,  final  act  of  commitment,  to  the 
being  of  Christ,  your  Saviour.  Impressions  shot  into  you, 
even  by  thunder-bolts,  would  not  be  faith  in  you.  Ye 
also  have  seen  me,  says  Jesus,  and  believe  not.  No  im- 
pression can  be  stronger  and  more  positive  than  sight,  and 
yet  not  even  this  was  equivalent  to  faith.  It  was  a  good 
ground  of  faith,  nothing  more.  AVhatever  drawings,  then, 
impressions,  convictions,  evidences,  God  in  his  mercy  may 
give  you,  they  will  only  ask  your  faith  and  wait  for  it. 
Will  you,  can  you,  then,  believe  ?  On  that  question  hangs 
every  thing  decisive  as  regards  your  salvation.  This  crisis 
of  faith, — can  you  ever  pass  it,  or  will  you  always  be 
waiting  for  a  faith  to  begin  in  you  which  is  not  faith,  and 
never  can  be  ?  Let  the  faith  be  yours,  as  it  must ;  your 
own  coming  to  Christ,  your  own  act  of  self-surrender,  your 
coming  over  to  him  and  eternal  trust  in  him  for  peace,  life, 
truth  and  bread ;  knowing  assuredly  that  he  will  be  made 
unto  you  all  these,  and  more, — wisdom,  rightecusnesa, 
sanctiiication  and  redemption. 

Finally,  it  is  very  plain  that  what  is  now  most  wanted, 
m  the  Christian  world,  is  more  faith.  We  too  little  respect 
faith,  we  dabble  too  nr.uch  in  reason ;  fabricating  gospels, 
77-here  we  ought  to  be  receiving  Christ;  limiting  all  faith, 
if  we  chance  to  allow  of  faith,  by  the  measures  of  previous 


104  THE     REASON'     OF    P'AITH. 

evidence,  and  ciittng  the  wing>^  of  faith  wlieu,  laying 
hold  of  God,  and  bathing  in  the  secret  mind  of  God,  il 
conquers  more  and  higher  evidence.  Here  is  the  secret  of 
our  sects  and  schisms,  that  we  are  so  much  m  the  head; 
for,  when  we  should  be  one  in  faith,  by  receiving  our  one 
Ijord,  as  soon  as  we  go  off  into  schemes  and  contrived  sum- 
maries of  notions,  reasoned  into  gospels,  what  can  follow 
but  that  we  have  as  many  gospels  as  we  have  heads  and 
theories?  It  never  can  be  otherwise,  till  we  are  united  by 
fliith.  The  word  of  reason  is  a  word  of  interminable 
schism  and  subdivision,  and  the  pi'opagation  of  it,  as  in 
those  animals  that  multiply  by  dividing  their  own  bodii^s, 
will  be  a  fissiparous  process  to  the  end  of  the  world.  0, 
that  the  bleeding  and  lacerated  body  of  Christ  could  once 
more  be  gathered  unto  the  Head,  and  fastened  there  by  a 
simple,  vital  trust;  that  his  counsel  and  feeling  and  all  hit' 
divine  graces  might  flow  down  upon  it,  as  a  sacred  healing 
and  a  vivifjdng  impulse  of  love  and  sacrifice ;  and  that  so, 
fighting  each  other  no  more,  we  might  all  together  fight 
the  good  fight  of  faith. 

We  shall  never  recover  the  true  apostolic  energy  and  be 
indued  with  power  from  on  high,  as  the  first  discijoles 
were — and  this  exactly  is  the  prayer  in  which  the  holiesn, 
most  expectant  and  most  longing  souls  on  earth  are  wait- 
ing now  before  God — till  we  recover  the  lost  faith.  As  re- 
gards a  higher  sanctification,  which  is,  I  trust,  the  elierished 
hope  of  us  all,  nothing  is  plainer  than  the  impossibility  of 
it,  exce])t  as  we  can  yield  to  faith  a  higher  honor  and  abide 
in  it  with  a  holier  confidence.  Every  man  is  sanctified 
according  to  his  faith ;  for  it  is  b}'  this  trusting  of  himself 
to  Christ  that  lie  becomes  inverted,  exalted,  irradiated,  and 
finally  glorified  in  Christ.     Be  it  unto  you  according  tc 


THE    REASON    OF    FAITH.  105 

your  faith,  is  the  true  principle,  and  by  that  the  wliole  life- 
Btate  of  the  church  on  earth  always  has  been,  always  will 
be  graduated.  Increase  our  faith,  then.  Lord!  be  this  onr 
prayer. 

That  prayer,  I  believe,  is  yet  to  be  heard.  After  wa 
have  gone  through  all  the  rounds  of  science,  speculatiori. 
dialectic  cavil,  and  wise  unbelief,  we  shall  do  what  they 
did  not  even  in  the  apostolic  times,  we  shall  begin  to 
settle  conceptions  of  faith  that  will  allow  us,  and  all  the 
ages  to  come,  to  stand  fast  in  it  and  do  it  honor.  And  then 
God  will  pour  himself  into  the  church  again,  I  know  not 
in  what  gifts.  Faith  will  then  be  no  horseman  out  upon 
the  plain,  but  will  have  a  citadel  manned  and  defended, 
whence  no  power  of  man  can  ever  dislodge  it  again.  Faith 
will  bo  as  much  stronger  now  than  science,  as  it  is  higher 
and  more  diffusive.  And  now  the  reign  of  God  is  estab- 
lished. Christ  is  now  the  creed,  and  the  wholf;  chnrch  of 
God  is  in  it.  fulHllino;  tlie  vroi'k  of  f;utl!  with  power. 


V?. 

REGENKRATION. 

John  iii.  3 — '''■Jesiis  miswered  and  said  unto  him,  Verily 
verily  1  say  unto  thee,  excejJi  a  man  be  horn  again,  he  can  noi 
lee  the  hingdom  of  God^ 

This  very  peculiar  expression,  born  again,  is  a  phrase 
tliat  was  generated  historically  in  the  political  state,  then 
taken  up  by  Christ,  and  appropi-iated  figuratively  to  the 
spiritual  use  in  which  we  find  it.  Thus  foreigneis,  oi 
Gentiles,  were  regarded  by  the  Jewish  people  as  unclean^ 
Therefore,  if  any  Grentile  man  wanted  to  become  a  Jewish 
citizen,  he  was  baptized  with  water,  in  connection  with 
other  appropriate  ceremonies,  and  so,  being  cleansed,  wad 
admitted  to  be  a  true  son  of  Abraham.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  been  born,  a  second  time,  of  the  stock  of  Abraham ; 
and  becoming,  in  this  manner,  a  native  Jew,  as  related  to 
the  Jewish  state,  he  was  said,  in  form  of  law,  to  be  born 
again.  Our  term  naturalization  signifies  essentially  the 
same  thing;  viz.,  that  the  subject  is  made  to  be  a  natural 
born  American,  or,  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  a  native  citizen. 
Eluding  this  Jewish  ceremony  on  foot,  and  familiarly 
known,  Christ  takes  advantage  of  it,  (and  the  more  natur- 
ally that  a  person  so  regenerated  was,  by  the  supposition, 
entered,  religiously,  into  the  covenant  of  Abraham,)  as 
afibrding  a  good  analogy,  and  a  good  form  of  expression, 
to  represent  the  naturalization  of  a  soul  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven.     Regarding  ns,  in  our  common  state  under  siu 


REGENERATION.  l07 

as  aliens,  or  foreii^ners,  and  not  citizens  in  the  kingdom., 
unclean  in  a  deeper  than  ceremonial  and  political  sense, 
he  says,  in  a  manner  most  emphatic, — Yerih',  verily  I  say 
unto  thee,  except  a  man  be  born  again,  he  cannot  see  the 
kingdom  of  God.  And  airain, — Marvel  not  that  I  said  nnto 
yon,  ye  must  be  born  again.  In  this  langnage,  so  emjdoyed, 
he  gives  ns  to  understand  that  no  man  can  ever  be  accepted 
before  God,  or  entered  into  the  kingdom  of  the  glorified, 
who  is  not  cleansed  by  a  spiritual  transformation,  in  that 
manner  born  of  God,  and  so  made  native  in  the  kingdom. 
H"e  does  not  leave  us  to  suppose  that  he  is  speaking  merely 
of  a  ceremonial  cleansing.  He  only  takes  the  water  by 
the  way,  as  a  symbol,  and  adds  the  Spirit  as  the  real  cleans- 
ing power ; — Except  a  man  be  born  of  water  and  tlie  Spirit, 
he  can  not  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.  That  which 
is  born  of  the  flesh  is  flesh,  that  which  is  born  of  the 
Spirit  is  spirit. 

I  propose,  now,  a  deliberate  examination  of  this  great 
Eubject,  hoping  to  present  such  a  view  of  it  as  will  com- 
mand the  respect  of  any  thoughtful  person,  whatever  may 
nave  been  his  previous  difficulties  and  objections.  My 
object  will  be  to  unfold  the  sciipture  doctrine,  in  a  way  to 
make  it  clear,  not  doubting  that,  when  it  is  intelligibly 
shown,  it  will  also  prove  itself  to  be  soundly  intelligent, 
and  will  so  command  our  assent,  as  a  proper  truth  of  sal- 
vation. I  believe,  also,  that  many  minds  are  confused,  to 
Buch  a  degree,  m  their  notions  of  this  subject,  as  must 
fatally  hinder  them,  m  their  efforis  to  enter  the  gate  whicih 
it  opens. 

I  I'.all  your  attention  specially  to  three  points : — 

1.  ThatChristrequires  >f  all  mankind,  without diatinctioiM 


108  REGENERATION. 

Bome  great  and  important  change,  as  the  necessary  cou 
dition  of  their  salvation. 

II.  The  natare  and  definition  of  this  change. 

III.  The  manner  in  which  it  is,  and  is  to  be,  effected. 

I.  That  Christ  requires  of  all  some  great  and  important 
change. 

He  does  not,  of  course,  require  it  of  such  as  are  already 
subjects  of  the  change,  and  many  are  so  even  from  their 
earliest  years;  having  grown  up  into  Christ  by  the  pre- 
venting or  anticipating  grace  of  their  nurture  in  the  Lord ; 
so  that  they  can  recollect  no  time,  when  Christ  was  not 
their  love,  and  the  currents  of  their  inclination  did  not  run 
toward  his  word  and  his  cause.  The  case,  however,  of 
such  is  no  real  exception ;  and,  besides  this,  there  is  even 
no  semblance  of  exception.  Intelligence,  in  fact,  is  not  more 
necessary  to  our  proper  humanity,  than  the  second  birth 
of  this  humanity,  as  Christ  speaks,  to  its  salvation.  Many 
can  not  believe,  or  admit  any  such  doctrine.  It  savors  of 
hardness,  they  imagine,  or  undue  severity,  and  does  not 
correspond  with  what  they  think  they  see,  in  the  examples 
of  natural  character  among  men.  There  is  too  much  ami- 
abihty  and  intc^grity,  too  much  of  exactness  and  even  of 
scrupulousness  in  duty,  to  allow  any  such  sweeping  require- 
ment, or  the  supposition  of  any  such  universal  necessity. 
How  can  it  be  said  or  imagined  that  so  many  moral, 
honorable,  lovely,  beneficent  and  habitually  reverent  per- 
sons need  to  be  radically  and  fundamentally  changed  in 
character,  before  they  can  be  saved? 

That,  according  to  Christ,  depends  on  the  question 
whether  "the  one  thing"  is  really  lacking  in  them  or  not 
If  it  be,  not  oven  the  fact  that  he  can  look  upo)i  tl  pip 


KEGENE  RATION.  lOi 

With  love  will,  at  all,  modify  liis  requirement.  This  is  the 
word  of  Christj  this  his  new  testament  still, — regeneration 
universal  regeneration,  thus  salvation. 

We  can  see  too,  for  ourselves,  that  Christianity  is  based 
on  the  fact  of  this  necessity.  It  is  not  any  doctrine  of 
development,  or  self-culture ;  no  scheme  of  ethical  practice,  -^ 
or  social  re-organization;  but  it  is  a  salvation;  a  power 
moving  on  fallen  humanity  from  above  its  level,  to  re- 
generate and  so  to  save.  The  whole  fabric  is  absurd  there- 
fore, unless  there  was  something  to  be  done  in  man  and 
for  iiim  that  required  a  supernatural  intervention.  We 
can  see  too,  at  a  glance,  that  the  style  of  the  transaction  ia 
supernatural,  from  the  incarnate  appearing  onward.  Were 
it  otherwise,  were  Christianity  a  merely  natural  and  earthly 
product,  then  it  were  only  a  fungus  growing  out  of  the 
world,  and,  with  all  its  high  pretensions,  could  have  noth- 
ing more  to  do  for  the  world,  than  any  other  fungus  for  the 
heap  on  wliich  it  grows.  The  very  name,  Jesus^  is  a  false 
pretense,  unless  he  has  something  to  do  for  the  race, 
which  the  race  can  not  do  for  itself;  something  re- 
generative and  new-creative ;  something  fitly  called  a 
salvation. 

But  how  can  we  imagine,  some  of  you  will  ask,  that 
God  is  going  to  stand  upon  any  such  definite  and  ngid 
terms  with  us  ?  Is  he  not  a  more  liberal  being  and  capable 
of  doing  better  things?  Since  he  is  very  good  and  very 
great,  and  we  are  very  weak  and  very  much  under  the 
law  of  circumstances,  is  it  not  more  rational  to  suppose 
that  he  will  find  some  way  to  save  us,  and  that,  if  we  do 
not  come  into  any  such  particular  terms  of  life,  it  will  be 
about  as  well  ?  May  we  not  safely  risk  the  consequences  7 
It  OMglit  to  be  a  sufficient  answer  to  all  such  suggestiors, 

10 


110  REGENERATION 

that  (.'lirist  evidentl}^  understood  wliat  is  necessary  for  u& 
better  than  we  do,  and  that  we  discover  no  disposition  tc 
uncharitablenesp  or  harshness  in  him.  He  comes  directly 
out  from  God  atid  knows  the  mind  of  God.  He  takes  oui 
case  upon  him,  and  is  so  pressed  by  the  necessities  of  our 
state,  that  he  is  even  willing  to  die  for  us. 

It  ought  also  to  be  observed  that  all  such  kinds  of  argu- 
ment are  a  plea  for  looseness,  which  is  not  the  manner  of 
tiod.  Contrarj'-  to  this,  we  discover,  in  all  we  know  of 
aim,  that  he  is  the  exactest  of  beings ;  doing  nothing  with- 
out fixed  principles,  and  allowing  nothing  out  of  its  true 
place  and  order.  He  weighs  every  world  of  the  sky,  even 
to  its  last  atom,  and  rolls  it  into  an  orbit  exactly  suited  to 
its  uses  and  quantities.  Nothing  is  smuggled  out  of  place, 
or  into  place,  because  it  is  well  enough  anywhere.  If  a 
retreating  army  wants  to  cross  a  frozen  river,  tlie  ice  will 
not  put  off  dissolving,  but  will  run  into  the  liquid  state,  at 
a  certain  exact  point  of  temperature.  If  a  man  wants  to 
live,  there  is  yet  some  diseased  speck  of  matter,  it  may  be, 
in  his  brain,  or  heart,  which  no  microscope  even  could  de- 
tect, and  by  that  speck,  or  because  of  it,  he  will  die  at  a 
certain  exact  time ;  which  time  will  not  be  delayed,  for  a 
day,  simply  because  it  is  only  a  speck.  Is  then  character 
a  matter  that  God  will  treat  more  loosely  ?  will  he  decide 
the  great  questions  of  order  and  place,  dependent  on  it, 
by  no  exact  terms  or  conditions?  If  he  undertakes 
to  save,  will  he  save  as  by  accommodation,  or  by  soiae 
(ixed  law?  If  he  undertakes  to  construct  a  beatific  state, 
will  he  gather  in  a  jumble  of  good  and  bad,  and  call  it 
Leaven  ?  How  certainly  will  any  expectation  of  heaven, 
based  on  the  looseness  of  God,  and  the  confidence  that  he 
tvill  stand  for  nc  very  exact  terras,  issue  in  dread  ful  d  Rap 


REGENERA1  ION.  Ill 

poijitnient.  And  the  more  certainly,  in  tbis  case,  that  the 
exactness  supposed  refers,  not  to  any  mere  atoms  ofqiiantity, 
but  to  eternal  distinctions  of  kind.  His  law  of  gravity 
will  as  soon  put  the  sea  on  the  backs  of  the  mountjtins,  as 
his  terms  of  salvation  will  gather  into  life  them  that  nre 
lot  quickened  in  his  Son. 

Do  we  not  also  see  as  clearly,  as  possible,  for  ourselves, 
w  hat  signifies  much  ;  that  some  men,  a  very  large  class  of 
men,  are  certainly  not  in  a  condition  to  enter  the  kingdom 
of  God,  or  any  happy  and  good  state.  They  have  no 
purity  or  sympathy  with  it.  They  are  slaves  of  passion. 
They  are  cruel,  tyrannical,  brutal,  and  even  disgusting  tc 
decency;  fearful,  unbelieving,  abominable.  Who  can 
think  that  these  are  ready  to  melt  into  a  perfectly  blessed 
and  celestial  society?  But,  if  not  these,  then  there  must 
be  a  division,  and  where  shall  it  fall  ?  If  a  line  must  be 
drawn,  it  must  be  drawn  somewhere,  and  what  is  on  one 
.side  of  that  line  will  not  be  on  the  other ;  which  is  the 
same  as  to  say  that  there  must  be  exact  terms  of  salvation 
if  there  are  any. 

Again,  we  know,  we  feel  in  our  own  consciousness, 
while  living  in  the  mere  life  of  nature,  that  we  are  not  in 
d  state  to  enjoy  the  felicities  ,of  a  purel}^  religious  and 
spotlessly  sinless  world.  "We  turn  from  it  with  inward 
pain.  Our  heart  is  not  there.  We  want  the  joys  of  that. 
state ;  we  feel  a  certain  hunger,  at  times,  after  God  him- 
self; and  that  liunger  is  to  us  an  assured  evidence  that  we 
h-ive  him  not.  I  do  not  undertake  to  press  this  argument 
tarti.er  than  it  will  bear.  I  only  say  that  we  feel  conscious 
of  something  uncongenial,  in  our  state,  toward  God  and 
heaven.  We  seem  to  ourselves  not  to  be  in  the  kingdom 
nf  God,  but  without,  and  can  hardly  imagine  how  "we 


112  REGENERATION. 

sliall  ever  fiud  uny  so  great  felicity  in  the  einp'oymeiits  ol 
holy  minds. 

Tt  is  also  a  very  significant  proof  that  some  great  change, 
is  needed  in  us  that,  when  we  give  ourselves  to  some  new 
{)urpose  of  amendment,  or  undertake  to  act  up  more  ex- 
actly to  the  ideals  of  our  mind,  we  are  consciouslj^  legal 
in  it,  and  do  all  by  a  kind  of  constraint.  Something  tcllg 
US  that  we  are  not  spontaneous  in  what  we  do ;  that  our 
currents  do  not  run  this  way,  but  the  contrary.  A  sad 
kind  of  heaven  will  be  made  by  this  sort  of  virtue !  How 
dry  it  is,  and  if  we  call  it  service,  how  hard  a  service! 
What  we  want  is  liberty,  to  be  in  a  kind  of  inspiration,  to 
have  our  inclinations  run  the  way  of  our  duty,  to  be  so 
deep  in  the  spirit  of  it  as  to  love  it  for  its  own  sake.  And 
this  exactly  is  what  is  meant  by  the  being  born  of  God. 
It  is  having  God  revealed  in  the  soul,  moving  in  it  as  the 
grand  impulse  of  life,  so  that  duty  is  easy  and,  as  it  were, 
natural.  Then  we  are  in  the  kingdom,  as  being  natural- 
izev  in  it,  or  native  born.  Our  regeneration  makes  us  frcc- 
in  good.  How  manifest  is  it  that,  without  this  freedom, 
this  newly  generated  inclination  to  good,  all  our  supposed 
service  is  mockery,  our  seeming  excellence  destitute  of 
sound  reality. 

There  is  then  a  change,  a  great  spiritual  change,  required 
[)y  Christianity  as  necessary  tc  salvation,  and  we  find 
abundant  reason,  m  all  that  we  know  of  ourselves  and  the 
world,  to  admit  the  necessity  of  some  transformation  quite 
ns  radical.  In  presence  of  a  truth  so  momentous  and 
serious,  we  now  raise  the  question — 

TI,  What  is  th3  nature  of  this  change,  how  shall  it  bf 
pojiceived  ? 


REGENERATION.  113 

To  make  the  answer  as  clear  as  possible,  let  some  things 
which  only  confuse  the  mind,  and  which  often  enter  largel;^ 
into  the  discussion,  be  excluded. 

Thus  a  great  deal  of  debate  is  had  over  the  supposed 
instantaneousness  of  the  change.  But  that  is  a  matter  of 
theorj  and  not  of  necessary  experience.  If  we  c-all  the 
change  a  change  from  bad  in  kind  to  good  in  kind,  fronn. 
a  wrong  principle  of  life  to  a  right,  the  change  will  imply 
a  beginning  of  what  is  good  and  right,  and  a  gradual  be- 
ginning of  any  thing  would  seem  to  be  speculatively  im- 
possible. Still  the  change  is,  in  that  view,  only  an  instan- 
taneous beginning.  But,  however  this  may  be  in  specula- 
tion, there  is  often,  or  even  commonly,  no  consciousness  of 
any  such  sudden  transition.  The  subject  often  can  not  tell 
the  hour,  or  the  day ;  he  only  knows,  it  may  be,  look- 
ing back  over  hours  or  days,  or  even  months,  that  he  is 
a  different  man. 

Some  persons  hold  impressions  'of  the  change  which 
suppose,  or  even  require  it  to  be  gradual.  This  is  an  erro' 
quite  as  likely  to  confuse  the  mind ;  for  then  they  set  out 
almost  of  course,  to  make  it  a  change  only  of  degrees,  ir 
the  old  plane  of  the  natural  character.  The  true  practical 
method  is  to  drop  out  all  considerations  and  questions  of 
time,  and  look  at  nothing  but  the  simple  fact  of  the  change 
itself,  whenever  and  however  accomplished. 

Much,  again,  is  said  in  this  matter  of  previous  states 
and  exercises — conviction,  distress,  tumult ;  then  of  light, 
peace,  hope,  bursting  suddenly  into  the  soul.  Let  no  one 
attempt  to  realize  any  such  description.  Something  of 
tlie  kind  may  be  common  among  the  inductive  causes,  oi 
thf  consequences  of  the  change,  but  has  nothing  to  do 
^ith  its  radical  idea. 


114  REGENERATION. 

Excluding  now  all  tliesc  points,  which  are  practicailj 
immaterial  and  irrelevant,  as  regards  a  definite  conception 
of  the  change,  let  us  carefully  observe,  first  of  all,  how  the 
acriptiires  speak  of  it,  or  what  figure  it  makes  in  their 
representations;  and  more  especially  the  fact  that  they 
never  speak  of  it  as  being  a  change  of  degrees,  an  amend- 
ment of  the  life,  an  improvement  or  growing  better  in  the 
plane  of  the  old  character.  Contrary  to  this,  they  use  bold, 
sweeping  contrasts,  and  deal,  as  it  were,  in  totalities.  It 
is  the  being  born  again,  or  born  over ;  as  if  it  were  a  spirit- 
ual reproduction  of  the  man.  They  describe  him  as 
one  new  created  in  Christ  Jesus  unto  good  works.  Old 
things  they  declare  to  be  passed  away,  behold  all  thing.s 
are  become  new.  It  is  passing  fi'om  death  to  its  opposite, 
life.  It  is  dying  with  Christ,  to  walk  with  him  in  newness 
of  life.  That  which  is  born  of  the  flesh  is  declared  to  be 
flesh ;  and,  in  the  same  sense,  that  which  is  born  of  the 
Spirit  to  be  spirit;  a§  if  a  second  nature,  free  to  good, 
were  inbreathed  by  the  Divine  Spirit,  partaking  his  own 
quality. 

It  is  called  putting  off  the  old  man  and  putting  on  the. 
new  man,  which  after  God  is  created  in  righteousness  and 
true  holiness;  as  if  there  was  even  a  vsubstitution  of  one 
man  for  another  in  the  change,  a  new  divine  man  in  thr 
place  of  the  old. 

Again,  it  is  called  being  transformed,  and  that  by  a  re 
ucwing  even  of  the  mind,  or  intelligent  principle. 

Again,  as  if  forever  to  exclude  the  idea  of  a  mere  grow- 
ing better  by  care,  and  duty,  and  self  improvement,  an 
apostle  says — Not  by  work?  of  righteousness  which  we 
have  done,  but  according  to  his  mercy  he  saved  us,  by  the 
w.'ishing  of  regeneration  and  renewing  of  the  Holy  Ghosi 


REGSNEllATION.  115 

Now  you  nmlerstand  that  a  change  of  this  kind  can  be 
spoken  of,  or  described,  only  in  figures.  Therefore  none 
of  these  expressions  arc  to  be  taken  as  literal  truths.  But 
the  great  question  under  tlicm  is  thin— is  the  change  spoJcen 
of  a  change  merely  of  degree,  or  is  it  a  change  of  kiml? 
is  it  simply  the  improving  of  principles  already  planted  in 
the  soul,  or  is  it  the  pass'.ng  into  a  new  state  under  new 
})rinci})les,  to  be  started  into  a  life  radically  different  from 
the  former?  I  have  not  one  doubt  which  of  the  two  alter- 
natives to  accept  as  the  true  answer.  Had  it  been  the 
matter  in  hand,  in  redeeming  the  world,  simply  to  make 
us  better  in  degree,  it  would  have  been  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world  to  say  it.  The  gospel  does  not  say  it.  On 
the  contrary,  it  labors  after  terms  in  which  to  set  forth  a 
change  of  kind,  of  principle, — a  grand  anakamosis, 
renovation,  new  creation,  spiritually  speaking,  of  the  man. 

Nor  is  there  any  thing  contrar}^  to  this,  in  those  expres- 
sions which  require  a  process  of  gi'owth  and  gradua'. 
advancement.  For  it  is  only  potentially  that  the  new  life 
IS  regarded  as  a  complete  or  total  I'cnovation.  As  the 
child  is  potentially  a  man,  as  the  seed  planted  is  potentially 
the  full  grown  plant,  so  it  is  with  the  regenerated  life  in 
Christ.  It  is  a  beginning,  the  implanting  of  a  new 
seed,  and  then  we  are  to  see,  first  the  blade,  then  the  ear, 
and  after  that  the  full  corn  in  the  ear.  All  such  concep- 
tions of  growth  fall  into  place  under  the  fact  that  the  new 
character  begun  is  only  begun,  and  that,  while  it  is  the 
root  and  spring  of  a  complete  renovation,  it  must  needs 
unfold  itself  and  fill  itself  out  into  completeness,  by  a  pro* 
cess  of  holy  living  On  the  other  hand,  there  cculd  be  no 
(jTowth  if  there  were  i.ot  something  planted,  and  ii  is 
everyvhere  assume i  and  taught  that,  until  the  new  ma)i 


116  REGENERATION. 

is  born,  or  begotten,  tliere  is  not  so  mucK  as  a  seed  of  tni€ 
iioliness,  no  principle  that  can  be  unfolded ;  that,  withoiil 
faith,  the  soul  abideth  even  in  death,  and  therefore  can 
not  grow. 

Advancing  now  from  this  point,  let  us  see  if  we  can 
accurately  conceive  the  interior  nature  of  the  change, 

Everj^  man  is  conscious  of  this;  that  when  he  acts  in  any 
particular  manner  of  wrong  doing,  or  sin,  or  neglect  of 
God,  there  is  something  in  the  matter  besides  the  mere  act, 
or  acts.  There  is  a  something  back  of  the  action  which  is 
the  reason  why  it  is  done.  In  the  mere  act  itself,  there  is, 
in  fact,  no  character  at  all.  In  striking  another,  for  ex- 
ample, the  mere  thrust  of  the  arm,  by  the  will,  is  the  act; 
and,  taken  in  that  narrow  mechanical  sense,  there  is  no 
wrong  in  it,  more  than  there  is  in  the  motion  that  dispensed 
a  charity.  The  wrong  is  back  of  the  act,  in  some  habit 
of  soul,  some  disposition,  some  status  of  character,  whence 
the  action  comes.  Now  this  something,  whatever  it  be,  ia 
the  wrong  of  all  wrong,  the  sin  of  all  sin,  and  this  must 
be  changed — which  change  is  the  condition  of  salvation. 

Sometimes  this  change  is  conceived  to  be  a  really  organ- 
ic change  in  the  subject.  The  strong  expressions  just 
referred  to,  in  the  scripture,  are  taken  literally,  as  if  then? 
was  and  must  needs  be,  a  literal  re-creation  of  the  man. 
G^he  difficulty  back  of  the  wrong  action  is  conceived  to  be 
the  man  himself,  as  a  mal-constructed  and  constitutionally 
evil  being,  who  can  never  be  less  evil,  till  something  is 
taken  out  of  him  and  replaced  by  a  new  insertion,  whicl; 
is,  in  fact,  a  new  creation,  by  the  fiat  of  omnipotence 
But  this,  it  is  plain,  would  be  no  proper  regeneration  of 
the  man,  but  the  generation  rather  of  another  man  in  hia 
place.      Personal  identity  would   be  overthrown.      Tlie 


REGEKERATION.  117. 

man  would  not,  or  should  not,  be  consciously  the  same 
that  he  was.  Besidi^s,  we  are  required  to  put  off  the  old 
man  ourselves  and  put  on  the  uew,  and  even  to  make  our- 
selves a  new  heart  and  a  new  spirit,  which  shows,  as 
clearly  as  possible,  that  we  are  to  act  concurrently  in  the 
oJiange  ourselves,  whatever  it  be.  But  how  can  we  act 
concurrently  in  a  literal  re-creation  of  our  nature? 

Sometimes,  again,  tlie  change  is  conceived  to  be  only  a 
change  of  purpose,  a  change  of  what  is  called  the  govern- 
ing purpose.  You  determined  this  morning,  for  example, 
to  attend  worship  in  this  jjlace.  This  determination,  or 
purpose,  being  made,  it  in  one  view  passed  out  of  mind; 
you  did  not  continue  to  say  and  repeat,  "I  will  do  it,"  till 
you  reached  the  place  and  took  3'our  seat;  and  yet  it  was 
virtually  in  you,  governing  all  jour  thousand  subordinate 
volitions,  in  rising,  preparing,  walking,  choosing  your  way, 
and  the  like,  down  to  that  moment.  Just  so  there  is,  it  is 
said,  a  bad  governing  purpose  of  sin,  or  self-devotion,  back 
of  the  whole  life,  making  it  what  it  is ;  and  what  chris- 
tianit}'  does  or  requires,  is  the  cliange  of  that  purpose ; 
which  being  changed,  a  change  is  wrought  in  the  whole 
li!e  and  character.  And  this,  it  is  conceived,  is  to  be  born 
again.  The  change  of  the  governing  purpose  is  the  re- 
generation of  the  man. 

TJje  illustration,  somewhat  popularly  taken,  has  truth 
iri  it^  and  it  may  be  used  in  many  cases  with  advantage. 
Still  it  is  not  exactly  a  bad  governing  purpose  that  we  find, 
.viien  we  look  for  the  seat  of  our  disorder,  but  a  somethiug 
rather  which  we  call  a  bad  n-imd,  state,  or  disposition 
Having  a  certain  quality  of  freedom,  this  bad  mind,  state, 
or  disposition,  may  be  represented  analogi(3ally  by  a  bad 
governing  purpose,  tliough  it  can  not  be  identified  vvitl' 


il8  BEGENERATION. 

that.  It  is  to  tlie  character  what  the  will  is  dyiiamicall^j 
to  the  actions,  a  bad  affinity  that  distempers  and  carnalize! 
the  whole  man.  I  know  not  how  to  describe  il  better  than 
to  call  it  ix  false  love,  a  wrong  hve,  a  downwara  selfish  love. 
ITow  this  love  gets  dominion,  or  becomes  establ.shed  in  us, 
is  not  now  the  question.  Enough  to  know  that  this  wrong 
love  is  in  us,  and,  being  in  us,  is  the  source  of  a  wrong 
life,  much  as  the  bad  governing  purpose  is  said  to  be. 
Only  it  is  a  more  real  and  fatal  condition  of  bondage  and 
a  kss  superficial  evil.  When  we  speak  of  a  purpose  that 
needs  to  be  changed,  we  have  only  to  will  it  and  the  change 
is  wrought.  But  when  we  speak  of  changing  one's  reign- 
ing love,  so  that  his  life  shall  be  under  another  love,  a 
right  lovo,  a  heavenly,  a  divine  love,  that  is  quite  another 
and  deeper  and  more  difficult  matter. 

Every  man's  life,  practically  speaking,  is  shaped  by  his 
love.  If  it  is  a  downward,  earthly  love,  then  his  actions 
will  be  tinged  by  it,  all  his  life  will  be  as  his  reigning  love. 
This  love,  you  perceive,  is  not  a  mere  sentiment,  or  casual 
emotion,  but  is  the  man's  settled  affinity ;  it  is  thai 
which  is,  to  his  character,  what  the  magnetic  force  is  to 
the  needle,  the  power  that  adjusts  all  his  aims  and  works, 
and  practically  determines  the  man.  It  only  must  be 
either  a  downward  love,  or  an  upward  love;  for,  being  tite 
last  love  and  deepest  of  the  man,  there  can  not  be  two  iu^t 
and  deepest,  it  mast  be  one  or  the  other.  AvA  then,  as 
I  his  lovG  changes,  it  works  a  general  revolution  of  the 
man. 

Hence  it  is  that  so  much  is  said  of  the  heai't  in  the 
gospel,  and  jf  a  change  of  the  heart;  for  it  is  what  pro- 
ceeds out  of  the  heart  that  defileth  the  man.  The  raeanin.g 
is,  not  that  Christianity  proposes  to  give  us  a  new  organ  ul 


REGENEKATION.  US 

soul,  or  to  extract  one  member  of  the  soul  and  insert  an- 
other, but  that  it  will  change  the  love  of  the  heai't.  A 
man's  love  is  the  same  thing  as  a  man's  heart. 

Thus  it  is  declared  that  God  will  write  his  laws  in  the 
hearts  of  men,  which  is  saying  that  he  will  bring  his  laws 
into  their  love.  In  accordance  also  with  this,  it  is  declfinx) 
that  love  is  of  God,  and  every  one  that  loveth  is  born  of 
God ;  that  is,  that  every  one  that  has  the  right  love,  the 
heavenly  or  divine  love  established  in  him,  has  the  change 
on  which  salvation  hangs. 

I  have  brought  you  on  thus  far,  in  a  simple  and  direct 
line  of  thought,  to  what  may  be  called  a  scriptural  and 
correct  view  of  the  change.  And  yet  there  is  another  and 
higher  which  is  also  scriptural,  and  which  needs  to  be  held 
in  view,  in  order  to  a  right  understanding  of  our  next 
point,  the  manner  in  wliich  the  change  is  effected. 

Thus  for,  you  will  observe,  I  have  looked  directly  at  the 
subject  of  the  change,  regarding  only  what  transpires  in 
him  as  a  man.  lie  is  not  re-created,  he  is  not  simply 
changed  in  his  governing  purpose,  he  is  changed  in  his  rul- 
ing love.  Still  he  could  not  be  so  changed  as  a  man  in 
his  own  spirit,  without  and  apart  from  another  change,  of 
which  this  is  only  an  incident.  After  all,  the  principal 
stress  of  the  change  is  not  in  himself,  as  viewed  by  him- 
self, but  in  his  personal  relation  to  God,  a  being  external 
t(^  himself.  In  his  prior,  unregenerate  state  as  a  sinner, 
he  was  separated  from  God  and  centered  in  himself,  liviiig 
in  himself  and  to  himself.  And  he  was  not  made  to  live 
in  this  manner.  He  was  made  to  live  in  God,  to  be  con- 
Rcious  of  God,  to  know  him  by  an  immediate  knowledge, 
to  act  by  his  divine  impulse,  in  a  word,  to  be  inspired  hy 
him.     By  this  I  mean   not  that  he  is  to  bo  iiif-i  ired  iv 


120  REGENERATION, 

the  saine  sense  and  manner  as  a  prophet  is,  or  a  writer  oi 
scripture,  which  is  the  sense  commonly  attached  to  th€ 
word;  I  onlj  mean  that  he  is  made  to  be  occn])ied,  fdlecl., 
governed,  moved,  exalted,  by  His  all-containing  Spirit ;  so 
that  all  his  tempers,  actions,  inids,  enjoj^ments,  will  be  from 
G(  d.  A  tree  can  as  well  live  out  of  the  light,  or  out  of 
the  air,  as  a  finite  soul  out  of  God  and  separate  from  (iod. 
lleic  then  is  the  grand  overtowering  summit  of  the  change- 
that  the  man  is  born  of  God.  He  is  born  into  God.  re- 
stored to  the  living  connection  with  God  that  was  lost  by 
his  sin,  made  to  be  a  partaker  of  the  divine  nature,  and 
live  a  life  hid  with  Christ  in  God.  He  acts  no  more  by 
his  mere  human  will,  as  before ;  he  says,  yet  not  I,  but 
Christ,  liveth  in  me.  God  is  now  revealed  in  him;  he  is 
not  a  sole,  simple,  human  nature;  but  he  is  a  human  na- 
ture occupied  by  the  divine,  living  and  acting  in  an  inspired 
movement; — all  which  is  signified  by  the  declaration,  that 
which  is  born  of  the  Spirit  is  spirit.  He  is  more  than  a 
human  person,  he  is  spirit;  a  human  person,  that  is,  per- 
vaded, illuminated,  swayed,  exalted,  empowered,  and 
finally  to  be  glorified  by  the  life  and  Spirit  of  God  devel- 
oped freely  in  him.  This  emphatically  is  regeneration. 
It  can  not  be  fully  defined  by  looking  simply  at  the  man 
himself.  He  must  be  regarded  as  in  relation  to  another 
being.  He  is  really  parted  from  sin  and  quickened  in  a 
B})irit  of  life,  only  as  he  is  restored  to  God  and  received 
into  the  glorious  occupancy  of  the  divine  nature. 

]iut  wli ether  we  regard  the  change  as  a  change  in  the 
5oul's  ruling  love,  or  in  the  higher  form  of  it  here  recog- 
mzed,  makes  little  difference;  for,  in  fact,  neitner  of  these 
two  will  be  found  separated  from  the  other.  If  a  man's 
ruling  love  is  changed,  he  Mill,  of  course,  be  altered  ii 


REGENERATION.  121 

his  relation  to  God,  atid  restored  to  ontnesj^  witli  Iiim 
And  if  lie  is  restored  to  that  oneness,  his  niling  love  will 
be  changed.  There  will  be  no  precedence  of  time  in  One 
to  the  other.  They  will  be  rigidly  coincide  nt,  They  will 
even  be  mutual  conditions  one  of  the  other.  No  man  will 
evei'  be  united  to  God,  except  in  and  by  a  love  that  em- 
braces or  entemples  God.  No  man  ever  will  be  changed 
in  hia  ruling  love,  except  in  the  embrace  of  God,  and  His 
revelation  in  the  soul.  The  consequences  therefore  of  the 
change  will  be  such  as  belong  to  both.  The  soul  is  now 
entered  into  rest;  rest  in  love,  rest  in  God.  It  is  flooded 
also  with  a  wondrously  luminous  joy;  its  whole  horizon 
is  filled  with  light;  the  light  of  a  new  love,  the  light 
of  God  revealed  within.  It  has  the  beginning  of  true  bless- 
edness ;  because  God  himself  and  the  principle  of  God's 
own  blessedness  are  in  it.  It  settles  into  peace;  for 
DOW  it  is  at  one  with  God  and  all  the  creatures  of  God.  It 
is  filled  with  the  confidence  of  hope ;  because  God,  who  is 
wholly  given  himself  to  a  right  love,  will  never  forsake  it, 
in  life  or  death.  It  is  free  to  good,  inclined  to  good;  for 
the  good  love  reigns  in  it,  and  it  would  even  have  to  deny 
itself  not  to  do  the  works  of  love.  It  consciously  knows 
God,  within ;  for  God  is  there  now  in  a  new  relation,  love 
present  to  love,  love  answering  to  love.  There  is  no  aliena- 
tion, or  separation,  but  oneness.  If  a  man  love  me,  says 
th»^.  Saviour,  he  will  keep  my  words,  and  my  Father  will 
love  him,  and  we  will  come  unto  him  and  make  our  abode 
with  him.  That  abode  in  the  soul  is  a  new  coiKlition  of 
divine  movement;  for  it  is  in  the  movement  of  God.  Aii 
things,  of  coui^se,  are  new.  Life  proceeds  from  a  new  cen- 
ter, of  which  God  is  the  rest  and  prop.  The  )  ible  is  a 
new  book,  because  there  is  a  light  in  the  soul  by  which  ta 

11 


122  REGENERATION. 

read  it.  Duties  are  new,  because  the  divine  kive  the  soul 
is  in  has  changed  all  the  relations  of  time  and  tlie  aims  of 
life.  The  saints  of  God  on  earth  are  no  longer  shunned, 
but  greeted  in  new  terms  of  celestial  brotherhood.  The 
veiy  world  itself  is  revealed  in  new  beauty  and  joy  to  the 
mini,  because  it  is  looked  upon  with  another  and  different 
love,  and  beheld  as  the  symbol  of  God. 

But  let  this  one  caution  be  observed.  You  are  likely 
to  be  more  attracted  by  the  consequences  of  the  change 
than  by  the  change  itself  But  with  the  consequences  you 
have  nothing  to  do.  God  will  take  care  of  these.  It 
may  be  that  your  mind  will  be  so  artificial,  or  so  confused, 
as  to  miss  the  consequences  for  a  time,  after  the  reality  is 
passed.  But  God  will  bring  them  out  in  his  own  good 
time,  perhaps  gradually,  certainly- in  the  way  that  is  best 
for  you.  Let  him  do  his  own  work,  and  be  it  yours  tc 
look  after  nothing  but  the  new  love.  This  brings  me  to 
speak,  as  I  shall  do  in  the  briefest  manner  possible, — 

III,  Of  the  manner  in  which  the  change,  already  de 
scribed,  is  to  be  effected. 

To  maintain  that  such  a  change  can  be  manipulatevi,  or 
officially  passed,  by  a  priest,  in  the  rite  of  baptism,  is  no 
better  than  a  solemn  trifling  with  the  subject.  Indeed,  so 
plain  is  this,  that  a  sober  argument,  instituted  to  prove  the 
contrary,  is  itself  a  half  surrender  of  the  truth.  "  Born 
of  water  and  of  the  Spirit,"'  s?ys  our  Lord,  and  the  lan- 
guage is  a  Hebraism,  which  presents  the  water  as  the  sym- 
bol and  the  Spirit  as  the  power  of  the  change. 

Equally  plain  is  it  that  the  change  is  not  to  be  effected, 
by  waiting  for  some  Jiew  creating  act  of  God,  to  be  literal Ij? 
passed  on  the  soul.     Whoever  thinks  to  (;ompIimcnt  tUa 


REGENERATION.  123 

sovereignty  of  God  in  that  manner,  modes  both  himself 
and  God.  The  cliange,  as  we  have  seen,  passes  only  b^ 
conseiit  and  a  free  concurrence  with  God.  God  will  nevei 
demolish  a  sinner's  personality. 

As  little  is  it  to  be  accomplished  by  any  mere  wilJiug, 
or  change  of  purpose,  apart  from  God.  There  must  be  a 
change  of  purpose,  a  final,  total,  sweejoing  change  of  all 
parpose,  but  that  of  itself  will  not  change  the  soul's  love, 
least  of  all  will  it  be  a  birth  of  God  into  the  soul.  A  man 
can  as  little  drag  himself  up  into  a  new  reigning  love,  aa 
he  can  drag  a  Judas  into  paradise.  Or,  if  we  say  nothing 
of  this,  how  can  he  execute  a  change,  that  consists  in  the 
revelation  of  God,  by  acting  on  himself?  "  Born  of  God," 
remember,  is  the  christian  idea,  not  born  of  self-exercise; 
"  created  anew  in  Christ  Jesus,"  not  self-created.  You  must 
get  beyond  j^our  own  mere  will,  else  you  will  find^  even 
though  you  strain  your  will  to  the  utmost  for  a  hundred 
years,  that,  while  to  will  is  present,  you  perform  not. 
You  can  not  lift  this  bondage,  or  break  this  chain,  or  burst 
open  a  way  into  freedom  through  this  barrier,  till  you  can 
say; — I  thank  God  through  Jesus  Christ  my  Lord;  for  the 
law  of  the  spirit  of  life  hath  made  me  free  from  the  law 
of  sin  and  death. 

The  question  the*i  recurs,  how  shall  this  change  be 
effected?  The  whole  endeavor,  I  answer,  on  your  part 
must  be  God -ward.  In  the  first  place,  you  must  give  ud 
every  purpose,  end,  employment,  hope,  that  conflicts  with 
God  and  takes  you  away  from  him.  Hence  what  is  said 
in  so  many  forms  of  self-renunciation.  Hence  the  require- 
ment to  forsake  all.  It  is  on  the  ground  that,  in  your  life 
of  sin,  j'ou  are  altogether  in  self-love,  centered  in  yourself, 
liviu2  for  yourself,  making  a  god  of  your  own  objects  and 


124  REGENERATION. 

works.  Tiiese  occupy  tlie  soul,  fill  it,  bear  rale  in  it,  and 
God  can  not  enter.  You  must  make  room  for  God,  create  a 
void  for  him  to  fill,  die  to  yourself  that  Christ  may  liyp 
within. 

But  this  negative  work  of  self-clearing  is  not  enough 
There  must  be  a  positive  reaching  after  God,  an  offering 
np  of  the  soul  to  him,  that  he  may  come  and  dwell  in  it 
and  consecrate  it  as  his  temple.  For,  as  certainly  as  the 
light  will  pour  into  an  open  window,  just  so  certainly  will 
God  reveal  himself  in  a  mind  that  is  opened  to  his  approach. 
Now  this  opening  of  the  mind,  this  reaching  after  God,  is 
faith ;  and  hence  it  is  that  so  much  is  made  of  faith.  For 
God  is  revealed  outwardly,  in  the  incarnate  life  and  death 
of  Jesus,  in  order  that  he  may  present  himself  in  a  man- 
ner level  to  our  feeling,  and  quickening  to  our  love,  and 
eO  encourage  that  faith  by  which  he  may  come  in,  to  re-es- 
tablish his  presence  in  us.  For  God,  who  commanded  the 
light  to  shine  out  of  darkness,  hath  shined  in  our  hearts, 
to  give  the  light  of  the  knowledge  of  the  glory  of  God,  in 
the  face  of  Jesus  Christ.  O,  it  is  there  that  the  true  God 
sliines — let  him  shine  into  our  hearts !  Jesus,  if  we  under- 
stand him,  is  the  true  manifestation  of  God,  and  he  is  mam 
fested  to  be  the  regenerating  power  of  a  new  divine  life. 
By  his  beautiful  childhood,  by  his  loving  acts  and  wordf, 
by  his  sorrowful  death,  God  undertakes  to  impregnate  ou:* 
^Jead  hearts  with  his  love,  and  so  to  establish  himself  eter* 
oally  in  us.  What  is  said  of  the  Spirit  is  said  of  him,  aa 
being  also  the  Spirit  of  Jesus.  For,  in  highest  virtuality, 
they  are  one,  even  as  Christ  himself  declares,  when  dis- 
coursing of  the  promised  Spirit, — "I  will  come  to  you,'' 
"but  ye  see  me."  Receive  him,  therefore,  as  receiving 
Christ,  and  him  as  the  accepted  image  of  G(k1,  and   thii» 


REGENERATION.  123 

will  \  e  your  faith,  this  the  regeneration  of  your  love,  and 
this  the  token  of  your  new  connection  with  God. 

Allow  no  artificial  questions  of  before  and  afterto  detain 
you  here,  as  debating  whether  Christ,  or  the  Spirit,  or 
the  faith,  or  the  new  born  love,  must  be  fii-st.  Enough  to 
know  that,  if  your  faith  is  conditioned  by  the  Spirit,  so  is 
the  victory  of  the  spirit  conditioned  by  your  faith;  that 
here  you  have  all  these  mercies  streaming  upon  you,  and 
that  nothing  effectual  can  be  done,  till  your  faith  meets 
them  and  they  are  revealed  in  your  faith.  Enough  to 
know  that,  if  the  faith  is  to  be  God's  work,  it  is  also  to  be 
your  act,  and  it  can  not  be  worked  before  it  is  acted.  Let 
Christ  also  be  your  help  in  this  acting  of  faith  and  this  re- 
ceiving of  God,  even  as  he  set  himself  to  give  it  in  his 
conversation  with  Nicodemus;  going  directly  on  to  speak 
of  himself  and  the  grace  brought  down  to  sinners  in  his 
person,  declaring  that,  as  Moses  lifted  up  the  brazen  ser- 
pent in  the  wilderness,  so  must  the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted 
up,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish  but 
have  everlasting  life.  He  brings  the  divine  love  down  to 
this  most  wondrous  attitude,  the  cross,  that  we  may  there 
drop  out  our  sin,  and  receive  into  our  faith  the  love,  the 
God  of  love  expressed.  And  therefore  it  is  represented 
that  Christ  ever  stands  before  the  door  and  knocks  for  ad- 
mission, with  a  promise  that,  if  any  man  open  the  door 
(which  is  faith,)  he  will  come  in  and  sup  with  him,  Chris- 
tianity is  God  descending  to  the  door  to  get  admission;  this 
is  the  grand  philosophy  of  the  incarnation.  God  is  just 
what  you  see  him  here,  and  he  cumes  to  be  revealed  in  you 
as  he  is  presented  before  you.  Thus  received,  you  are  bom 
again,  born  of  God.  A  new  love  enters,  God  enters,  «iti(J 
eternal  life  begins. 

11* 


126  REGENERATIOIS 

Shall  le  enter  tlius  with  you?  How  many  of  you 
we  there  that  ought  to  hear  thi.s  call.  And  no  one  of  you 
is  excluded.  You  may  have  come  hither  to-day  with  no 
such  high  intention.  Still  the  call  is  to  joi\.  If  you  ask 
\Tho?  how  many?  when?  all,  I  answer,  all,  and  that  to-day. 
Do  you  not  see  a  glorious  simplicity  in  this  truth  of  re- 
generation !  How  beautiful  is  God  in  the  light  of  it,  how- 
deep  in  love  Christ  Jesus  and  his  cross,  how  close,  in  all 
this,  comes  the  tenderness  and  winning  grace  of  yoar  God  I 
No  matter  if  you  did  not  think  of  receiving  him,  are  you 
going  to  reject  him  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  be  so  exalted,  so 
divinely  ennobled?  Have  you  fallen  so  low  that  no  such 
greatness  can  attract  you  ? 

Then  be  it  so.  Have  it  as  confessed  that,  when  you  >5aw 
the  true  gate  open,  jou  would  not  enter.  Go  back  to  your 
sins.  Plunge  into  your  little  cares,  fall  down  to  your  base 
idols,  creep  along  through  the  low  affinities  of  your  sin, 
make  a  covenant  with  hunger  and  thirst,  and  hide  it  from 
you,  if  you  can,  that  you  were  made  for  God,  made  to  live 
in  the  consciousness  of  Him,  as  a  mind  irradiated,  by  His 
spirit,  quickened  by  his  life,  cleared  by  Hia  purity.  But 
if  you  can  not  be  attracted  by  this,  let  it  be  no  won- 
der, call  it  no  severity,  that  Christ  has  not  opened  heaven 
to  you.  No  wonder  is  it  to  him,  even  if  it  be  to  you,  and 
therefore  he  saj'-s,  whispers  it  to  you  kindly,  but  faithfully, 
as  you  turn  yourself  away, — "  Marvel  not  that  I  said  ui.  f 
you  ye  must  be  bori  again. 


vu. 

THE   PERSONAL   LOVE   AND   LEAD   OF  CHRIST. 

John  x.  3. — ^''  And  he  calleth  his  own  sheep  hy  name  ami 
leideih  diern  out.'''' 

In  this  parable  Christ  is  a  shepherd,  and  his  people  are 
his  flock.  And  two  points,  on  which  the  beauty  and  sig- 
nificance of  the  parable  principally  turn,  are  referred  to  iu 
the  text,  which  might  not  be  distinctly  observed  by  one 
who  is  not  acquainted  with  the  peculiar  manner  of  the 
eastern  shepherds.  They  have,  in  the  first  place,  a  name 
for  every  sheep,  and  every  sheep  knows  its  name  when  it 
is  called.  And  then  the  shepherd  does  not  drive  the  flock, 
as  we  commonly  speak,  but  he  leads  them,  going  before. 
To  these  two  points,  or  to  the  instruction  contained  under 
these  two  analogies,  I  now  propose  to  call  your  attention. 

I.  He  calleth  his  own  sheep  by  name.  As  we  have 
names  for  dogs  and  other  animals,  which  they  themselves 
know,  so  it  was  with  the  eastern  shepherds  and  their  flocks. 
This  fact  is  shown  historically,  by  many  references.  It  is 
to  this,  for  example,  that  Isaiah  refers  when  he  represents 
the  Almighty  Creator  as  leading  out  the  starry  heavens, 
like  a  shepherd  leading  his  flock; — Lift  up  your  eyes  and 
behold  who  hath  created  these  things,  that  bringeth  out 
their  host  by  number;  he  calleth  them  all  by  names. 
I'hc  shepherd  in  this  view  is  not  as  one  who  keeps  a  hive 
of  bee<5,  knowing  well  the  hive,  but  never  any  particular 


1.28  THE     PEKSONAL     LOVE 

bee  in  it,  but  lie  has  a  particular  recognition  of  everj 
sbeep,  has  a  name  for  every  one,  teaches  every  one  to  know 
that  name  and  follow  at  the  call.  This  also  is  signified  in 
the  words  that  immediately  i'ollow, — The  sheep  follow 
liim,  for  they  know  his  voice, — words  that  refer,  not  so 
much  to  the  mere  tones  of  his  voice,  as  to  the  fact  tna\ 
be  is  able,  as  a  stranger  is  not,  to  call  the  names  ihey  are 
wont  to  answer  as  their  own. 

Under  this  analogy  stands  the  tender  and  beautiful  truth, 
that  Christ  holds  a  'parlicular  relation  to  individual  persons , 
knovjs  them,  loves  them,  watches  for  them,  leads  them,  individu- 
ally, even  as  if  calling  tlicvi  hij  name. 

In  this  respect,  the  parable  is  designed  to  counteract  ant] 
correct,  what  has  in  all  ages  been  the  common  infirmity  of 
Christian  believers; — they  believe  that  God  has  a  real  care 
of  the  church  and  of  all  great  bodies  of  sainis,  but  how  diffi- 
cult is  it  to  imagine  that  he  ever  particularly  notes,  or  per- 
sonally recognizes  them.  They  know  that  Govl  has  a  vast 
empire,  and  that  the  cares  and  counsels  of  his  love  include 
immense  numbers  of  minds,  and  they  fall  into  the  impres- 
sion that  he  must  needs  deal  with  them  in  the  gross,  or  as 
noting  only  generals,  jnst  as  they  would  do  themselves. 
They  even  take  an  air  of  philosophy  in  this  opinion,  ask- 
ing how  we  can  imagine  that  so  great  a  being  takes  a  ]);ir 
ticular  notice  of,  and  holds  a  particular  and  personal  rela^ 
tion  to,  individual  men.  There  could  not  be  a  greatei 
mistake,  even  as  regards  the  nmtter  of  philosophy ;  for  tliG 
r(;lation  God  holds  to  objects  of  knowledge  is  different,  ic 
all  respects,  from  that  which  is  held  by  as.  Our  general 
terms,  man,  tree,  insect,  flower,  are  the  names  of  particular, 
or  single  specimens,  extended,  on  the  ground  of  a  pei-- 
ccived  similarity,  to  kinds  or  species.     They  come,  in  thij 


AND     LEAD     OF    CHRIST.  129 

manner,  lo  stand  for  millions  of  particular  men,  trees, 
insects,  flowers,  that  we  do  not  and  never  can  know. 
They  are,  to  just  this  extent,  words  of  ignorance;  oulv 
^ve  are  able,  in  the  use,  to  hold  right  judgments  of  innii 
merable  particulars  we  do  not  know,  and  have  the  words, 
90  far,  as  words  of  wisdom.  But  God  does  not  generalize 
in  this  manner,  getting  up  general  terms  under  which  to 
handle  particulars,  which,  as  particulars,  he  does  not  know. 
Uc  is  not  obliged  to  accommodate  his  ignorance,  or  short- 
ness of  perception,  by  any  such  splicing  process  in  words. 
His  knowledge  of  wholes  is  a  real  and  complete  knowledge 
It  is  a  knowledge  of  wholes,  as  being  a  disthict  knowledge 
of  particulars.  Indeed,  whatever  particulars  exist,  or  by 
him  are  created,  he  must  first  have  thought;  and  there- 
fore they  were  known  by  him,  as  being  thought,  even  be- 
fore they  became  subjects  of  knowledge  in  the  world  of 
fact.  Holding  in  his  thought  the  eternal  archetypes  of 
kinds  and  species,  he  also  thought  each  individual  ni  its 
particular  type,  as  dominated  by  the  common  archetype. 
So  that  all  things,  even  things  most  particular,  are  known 
or  thought  by  hira  eternally,  before  they  take  existence  iu 
time.  When  he  thinks  of  wholes  or  kinds  therefore — of 
society,  the  church,  the  nation,  the  race,  he  knows  nothing 
of  them  in  our  faint,  partial  way  of  generalization,  but  ho 
knows  them  intuitively,  through  and  through;  the  wholes 
in  the  particulars,  the  particulars  in  the  wholes;  knows 
them  in  their  types,  knows  them  in  their  archetypes,  knowa 
them  in  their  genesis  out  of  both ;  so  with  a  knowledge 
that  is  more  than  verbal,  a  solid,  systematic,  specific  knowl- 
odge.  Nay,  it  is  more, — a  necessary,  inevitable  knowledge , 
for  the  sun  can  no  more  shine  on  the  world,  as  in  the  gross, 
without  touching  every  particular  straw  and  atom  with  hia 


130  THE     PERSONAL     LOVE 

light,  than  Gcd  can  know,  or  love  whole  bodies  of  saints., 
withoui  knowing  and  loving  every  individual  saint.  In 
one  view,  it  requires  no  particular  act  of  tenderness,  oi 
condescension  in  him ;  it  is  the  sublime  necessity  of  hia 
Perfect  Mind.  Being  a  perfect  mind,  and  not  a  mere  spark 
of  intelligence  like  us,  he  can  not  fall  into  the  imperfec- 
tions and  shorten  himself  to  the  half-seeing  of  our  contriv- 
ance, when  we  strain  ourselves  to  set  up  generals,  in  a 
way  to  piece  out  and  hide  our  ignorance. 

And  yet  we  could  not  wean  ourselves  of  this  folly, 
could  not  believe  that  our  God  has  a  particular  notice  of 
us  and  a  particular  interest  in  our  personal  history.  And 
this  was  one  of  the  great  uses  of  the  incarnation ;  it  was 
to  humanize  God,  reducing  him  to  a  human  personality, 
ihat  we  might  believe  in  that  particular  and  personal  love, 
ui  which  he  reigns  from  eternity.  For  Christ  was  visibly 
one  of  us,  and  we  see,  in  all  his  demonstrations,  that  he 
5s  attentive  to  every  personal  want,  woe,  cry  of  the  world. 
When  a  lone  woman  came  up  in  a  crowd  to  steal,  as  it 
were,  some  healing  power  out  of  his  person,  or  out  of  the 
hem  of  his  garment,  he  w^ould  not  let  her  off  in  that  im- 
personal, unrecognizing  way ;  he  compelled  her  to  show 
herself  and  to  confess  her  name,  and  sent  her  away  with 
his  personal  blessing.  He  pours  out,  everywhere,  a  par- 
ticular sympathy  on  every  particular  child  of  sorrow ;  he 
even  hunts  up  the  j^outh  he  has  before  healed  of  his  blind- 
aess,  and  opens  to  him,  persecuted  as  he  is  for  being  healed, 
the  secrets  ot  his  glorious  Messiahship.  The  result,  accord- 
ingly, of  this  incarnate  history  is  that  we  are  drawn  to  a 
different  opinion  of  God  ;  we  have  seen  that  he  can  love 
as  a  man  loves  another,  and  that  such  is  the  way  of  hia 
love.     He  has  tasted  death  we  say,  not  for  all  men  only 


AND     LEAD     OF    CHRIST.  131 

but  for  every  man.  We  even  dare  to  say,  for  nie, — 
who  loved  me  and  gave  himself  for  me.  Nay,  he  goed 
even  further  than  this  himself,  calling  us  friends,  and 
claiming  that  dear  relationship  with  us;  friends,  because 
lie  is  on  the  private  footing  of  friendship  and  personal 
oonfidence ; — The  servant  knoweth  not  what  his  Lord  doeth, 
but  I  have  called  you  friends.  He  even  goes  beyond  this, 
promising  a  friendship  so  particular  and  personal  that  ii 
shall  be  a  kind  of  secret,  or  cypher  of  mutual  understand- 
ing, -^pen  to  no  other;  a  new  white  stone  given  by  hia 
king,  and  in  the  stone  a  new  name  written,  which  no  man 
knoweth  saving  he  that  receiveth  it. 

Indeed,  I  might  go  on  to  show,  from  every  particular 
work  and  turn  of  this  gospel,  how  intensely  personal  it  is. 
What  is  communion  that  is  not  communion  with  particu- 
lar souls?  Is  it  the  communion  or  fellowship  of  God  that 
lie  ]'eaches  only  great  bodies  of  men?  K  he  promises  com- 
fort or  support,  whom  does  he  comfort  or  support,  when 
he  touches  no  individual  person?  The  promises  to 
prayer — whom  does  he  hear,  when  he  hears  the  prayer  of 
nobody  in  particular,  and  for  nothing  in  particular?  The 
work  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  souls — what  is  it,  in  all  its  de- 
grees and  modes;  in  their  calling,  their  guidance,  their 
Ranctification ;  what  can  it  be  imagined  that  he  does  which 
is  not  personal,  the  bestowment  of  a  convincing,  illumin- 
ating, drawing,  renovating  grace,  exactly  tempered  to,  and 
by,  the  individual  blessed;  a  visiting  of  his  intelligent 
person,  at  just  the  point  of  his  particular  want,  sin,  sor- 
row, prejudice,  so  as  to  exactly  meet  his  personality  a.t 
that  particular  time  ?  We  speak,  indeed,  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
as  falling  on  communities,  or  assemblies,  but  we  must 
not  suppose  that  he  touches   the  general  bo.ly  and  no 


132  THE    PERSONAL    LOVE 

particular  person.  On  the  contrary,  if  we  understand 
ourselves,  lie  reaches  the  general  body  only  by  and 
through  individuals ;  save  that  there  is  an  effect  of  mutual 
excitement,  which  is  secondary  and  comes  from  their  sense 
of  what  is  revealed  in  each  other,  under  the  power  of  the 
Spirit  in  each.  How  then  can  it  be  imagined  that  God 
effectually  calls  an 3^  person  by  his  Spirit,  without  dispens- 
ing a  grace  most  distinctly  and  even  adaptively  personal? 

So  it  is,  in  short,  with  every  thing  included  in  the  gospel 
as  a  grace  of  salvation ;  every  thing  in  the  i'enewing_ 
fashioning,  guidance,  discipline,  sanctification,  and  final 
crowning  of  an  heir  of  glory.  His  Saviour  and  Lord  in 
over  him  and  with  him,  as  the  good  shepherd,  calling  him 
by  name ;  so  that  he  is  finally  saved,  not  as  a  man,  or  some 
one  of  mankind,  led  forth,  by  his  Lord,  in  the  general 
flock,  but  as  the  Master's  dear  Simon,  or  James,  or 
Alpheus,  or  Martha,  whose  name  is  so  recorded  in  the 
Lamb's  book  of  life. 

And,  in  this  view,  it  is,  I  suppose,  that  the  church,  in 
baptizing  her  children,  takes  there,  at  the  font,  with  a  most 
beautiful  and  touching  propriety,  what  she  calls  the 
"Christian  name;"  as  if  it  were  Christ's  own  gift;  a  name 
bestowed  by  him,  in  which  he  recognizes  the  child's  dis- 
cipleship,  and  which,  as  often  as  it  is  spoken,  he  is  himself 
to  recognize  as  the  calling  of  his  Master's  voice; — And  he 
callcth  his  own  sheep  by  name. 

Consider  now  the — 

II,  Point  of  the  text — he  leadeth  them  out.  It  is  not 
Baid,  you  observe,  that  the  shepherd  driveth  them  out^  fo/ 
that  was  not  the  manner  of  shephei'ds,  but  that  he  leadeth 
them,  going  before  to  call  them  after  him.     This,  indeed^ 


AND    LEAD     OF    CHRIST.  133 

is  expresnly  and  ibrmally  said  in  the  next  verse — and  whei) 
he  puttetli  fortli  liis  own  sheep,  he  goeth  before  them,  and 
the  sheep  follow  him.  Hence  those  poetic  figures  of  the 
Old  Testament — The  Lord  is  mj^  shepherd,  he  leadeth  me 
beside  the  still  waters.  Thou  leddest  thy  people,  like  a 
flack,  by  the  hand  of  Moses  and  Aaron.  Give  ear,  0 
shepherd,  thou  that  leadest  Joseph  like  a  flock.  The  same 
custom  of  going  before  the  flock  pertains,  even  now,  it  is 
said,  in  the  sheep-walks  of  Spain. 

What  a  beautiful  image,  or  picture,  to  represent  the 
attitude  and  personal  relationship  of  Jesus  among  his  fol- 
lowers;— That  he  does  not  drive  tliein  on  before^. as  a  herd  oj 
unwilling  disciples^  hut  goes  before  hiniself  leading  them  into 
paths  that  he  has  trod,  and  dangers  he  has  met,  and  sacrifices 
he  has  borne  hiinself,  calling  them  after  him  and  to  be  only 
follovjers.     He  leadeth  them  out. 

If  driving  could  do  any  good,  he  might  well  enough 
drive  his  flock  as  a  body,  caring  nothing  for  any  one  of 
them  in  particular ;  but,  if  he  is  going  to  draw  them  aftei' 
him,  he  must  work  upon  their  inclinations,  draw  them  by 
their  personal  favor  to  him,  and  must  therefore  know  them 
personall}^,  and  call  them  to  follow,  as  it  were,  by  name. 
Just  the  difference  will  be  observed  in  this  matter  that  per- 
tains between  the  eastern  shepherds  and  those  of  the  westj 
and  north.  No  sooner  do  we  come  upon  this  latter  fashion 
of  driving  flocks  a-field,  than  we  see  the  noting,  Knowing 
and  calling  of  particular  sheep  disappear.  When  the 
dri\'ing  and  thrusting  on  before  becomes  the  manner,  there 
is  no  need  of  getting  any  one  of  them  under  a  power  of 
confidence  and  attraction,  no  need  of  noting  them  indi- 
vidually at  all.  So,  if  driving  were  in  place,  Christ  migb.l 
well  enough  let  fall  the  fires  of  Sodom  behird  his  floiik; 

12 


134  THE    PERSONAL    LOVE 

and  drive  tiie.n  out,  as  he  drove  Lot's  family,  or  ids  vain- 
hearted  wife,  out  of  the  city.  But  the  best  use  tliat  could 
be  jiiade  of  such  a  flock,  after  all,  would  be  to  turn  them 
into  pillars  of  salt  and  let  them  stand.  No  disciple  is  a 
leal  disciple  till  he  becomes  a  follower,  going  after  the 
sliephcid,  as  one  that  follows  by  name,  and  is  drawn,  by 
love. 

Here  then  is  the  beauty  and  glory  of  Christ,  as  a  Re- 
deemer and  Saviour  of  lost  man,  that  he  goes  before, 
always  before,  and  never  behind  his  flock.  He  begins 
with  infancy,  that  he  may  show  a  grace  for  childhood.  He 
is  made  under  the  law,  and  carefully  fulfills  all  righteous- 
ness there,  that  he  may  sanctify  the  law  to  us,  and  make 
it  honorable.  He  goes  before  us  in  the  bearing  of  tempta- 
tions, that  we  may  bear  them  after  him,  being  tempted  in 
all  points  like  as  we  are,  yet  without  sin.  He  taught  us 
forgiveness  by  forgiving  himself  his  enemies.  He  went 
before  us  in  the  loss  of  all  things,  that  we  might  be  able 
to  follow,  in  the  renouncing  of  the  world  and  its  dominion. 
The  works  of  love  that  he  requires  of  us,  in  words,  are 
preceded  and  illustrated  by  real  deeds  of  love,  to  which 
he  gave  up  all  his  mighty  powers  from  day  to  day.  Hr- 
bore  the  cross  himself  that  he  commanded  us  to  take  up 
and  bear  after  him.  Requiring  us  to  hate  even  life  for  the 
gospel's  sake,  he  went  before  us  in  dying  for  the  gospel , 
suffering  a  death  most  bitter  at  the  hand  of  enemies  exas- 
perated only  by  his  goodness,  and  that  when,  at  a  word 
he  might  have  called  to  his  aid  whole  legions  of  angels,  and 
driven  them  out  of  the  world.  And  then  he  w^ent  beforf 
us  in  the  bui'sting  of  the  grave  and  the  resurrection  from 
it;  becoming,  in  his  own  person,  the  first  fruits  of  them 
that  slept.     And,  fiiiall}^,  he  ascended  and  passed  withn- 


AND    LEAD    OF    CHRIST.  135 

the  veil  before  us,  as  our  forerunner,  whom  we  are  to  fol- 
low even  there.  In  all  which,  he  is  our  shepherd,  going 
before  us,  and  never  behind;  calling,  but  never  driving; 
bearing  all  the  losses  he  calls  us  to  bear;  meeting  all  the 
dangers,  suffering  all  the  cruelties  and  pains  which  it  is 
given  us  to  suffer,  and  drawing  us  to  follow  where  he 
leads, 

And  then  we  see  what  kindred  spirit  entered  into  the 
teachers  that  he  gave  to  lead  his  flock.  Thej  were 
such  as  follovsed  him  in  the  regeneration;  going  up  at 
last,  according  to  his  promise,  to  sit  on  thrones  of  glory 
with  him.  And  it  is  remarkable  that  the  apostles  took  it 
as  incumbent  on  them  always,  in  their  Master's  law,  to  re- 
quire nothing  of  others  in  which  they  were  not  foi^ward 
themselves.  Thus,  when  Paul  says,  once  and  again — I 
beseech  you  be'  ye  followers  of  me ;  brethren,  be  followers 
together  of  me ;  it  has  a  sound,  taken  as  it  may  be  taken, 
of  conceit,  or  vanity ;  but,  when  we  look  upon  him  as  a 
man  who  goes  after  Christ,  in  the  ways  of  scorn  and  suf- 
fering patience ;  in  labors  more  abundant,  in  stripes  above 
measure,  in  prisons  more  frequent,  in  deaths  oft,  receiving 
more  thnn  once  his  forty  stripes  save  one,  beaten  with 
i-ods  and  stoned  out  of  cities,  running  the  gauntlet  through 
all  sorts  of  perils,  in  weariness  and  painfulness,  in  watch- 
ings  often,  in  hunger  and  thirst,  in  fastings  often,  in  cold 
and  nakedness,  accounted  as  the  filth  of  the  world  and  the 
offscouring  of  all  things — when  we  see  him  tramping  ou 
heavily  th  is,  bearing  his  Master's  dark  flag  of  patience 
and  loss,  and  calling  others  to  follow,  we  only  see  that  he 
has  taken  Christ's  own  spirit  and  despises  even  to  send  the 
flock  before  hhn,  where  he  dDCS  not  lead  himself. 

Ah!  we  have  seen  tliintr^'  different  from  this;  teacher? 


186  THE    PERSONAL    LOVE 

that  bind  lieavy  burdens  and  lay  tliem  on  men's  sliouldera 
which  they  themselves  will  not  so  much  as  lighten  with 
Ihe  touch  of  their  fingers ;  priests  and  confessors  that  feed 
their  lusts  out  of  the  charities  extorted  from  the  poor^  im 
posing  on  them  loads  of  penance  in  turn,  to  humble  therc 
and  keep  them  in  subjection;  philanthi'opists  pabiishing 
theories  and  great  swelling  words  of  equality,  and  tapering 
off  in  the  commendation  of  virtues  they  themselves  do  not 
practice,  and  even  inwardly  distaste.  All  such  are  men 
that  drive  a  flock.  But  Christ,  the  true  shepherd,  the 
eternal  Son  of  God,  wants  nothing  in  his  flock  that  he  does 
not  show  in  himself  He  goes  before  them,  bearing  all  the 
bitterest  loads  of  sacrifice  and  facing;  all  the  fiercei^t  terrors 
himself,  only  calling  them  gently  to  come  and  follow. 
"  Gome  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden, 
and  I  will  give  jon  rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon  you  and 
learn  of  me.     My  yoke  is  easy  and  my  burden  light." 

The  uses  and  applications  of  this  subject  are  many.  The 
time  allows  me  to  name  only  a  few  that  are  most  practical. 

1.  A  great  mistake,  or  false  impression,  held  by  most 
worldly  minds,  and  even  by  some  who  profess  to  be  dis- 
ciples, is  here  corrected ;  viz.,  the  mistake  of  regarding  the 
christian  life  as  a  legal  and  constrained  service.  It  is  as 
if  the  flock  were  driven  by  the  shepherd,  and  not  as  if  il 
were  led  by  the  shepherd's  call  going  before.  In  this 
Image,  or  figure,  is  beautifull}^  represented  the  freedom  of 
the  disciple.  He  is  one  who  is  led  by  a  personal  influence, 
one  who  hears  the  voice  and  answers  to  the  name  by  which 
he  is  called.  He  could  not  be  thrust  on,  as  in  a  crowd, 
by  mere  force,  or  fear.  Christ  wants  to  lead  men  by  theii 
love^  their  personal  lo\e  to  him,  and  the  coofidcnc^e  of  hia 


AND    LEAD    OF    CHRIST  13'i 

personal  love  to  tLsm,  And  tlierefoi'e  tlie  representation 
IS,  not  tliat  he  is  a  shepherd  going  behind,  with  dogs,  tc 
gnther  in  the  flock,  and  keep  them  before  him,  bnt  that  he 
draws  them  after  him,  and  gets  them  into  such  a  training 
of  confidence,  that  they  will  hear  his  call  and  follow.  Tho) 
whole  relation,  therefore,  of  discipleship  is  a  relation  of 
liberty.  No  one  goes  to  his  duty  because  he  must,  but  onlj 
because  his  heart  is  in  it.  His  inclinations  are  that  way, 
for  his  heart  is  in  the  Master's  love,  and  he  follows  him 
gladly.  It  no  doubt  seems  to  you,  my  friends,  when  you 
look  on  only  as  strangers  to  Christ,  that  this  must  be  a  hard 
and  dry  service ;  for  you  see  no  attraction  in  it.  But  the 
reason  is  that  your  heart  is  not  in  it.  With  a  new  heart, 
quickened  by  the  grace  of  Christ,  all  this  would  be  changed. 
It  will  then  seem  wholly  attractive.  All  the  currents  of 
your  love  will  run  that  way,  and  the  freest  freedom  of 
your  nature  will  be  to  go  after  Christ.  No  sacrifice  will 
be  hard,  no  service  a  burden.  The  wonder  now  will  be 
that  all  men  do  not  rush  in  after  Christ,  to  be  his  eager 
.followers.  God  grant  that  even  to-day  you  may  have 
this  truth,  as  an  experience,  in  the  choice  of  Christ,  and 
the  renewing  of  his  promised  Spirit. 

Brethren,  are  there  some  of  you  that  hold  this  same  im- 
pression of  the  life  of  duty !  If  so,  if  you  have  no  knowl- 
edge of  this  freedom  in  Christ,  the  sign  is  a  dark  one  for 
you.  Perhaps  it  is  not  exactly  the  same  impression  that 
you  hold.  It  may  be  that  you  have  it  only  in  a  degree^ 
accordingly  as  you  are  over-legal  in  ycur  conceptions  of 
duty,  and  rob  yourself,  in  that  manner,  of  its  comforts, 
Let  your  mistake  be  now  corrected.  See,  in  particular, 
that  Christ  is  not  behind  you  but  before,  calling  and  draw- 
ing you  on.     He  wants  your  faith,  want?  your  love,  nor  a 

12* 


138  THE    rEKSO]S.\I.     LOVE 

minute,  and  scrupulous,  and  carei'iil  ])iling  up  of  legalities 
You  are  not  to  stand  off,  doing  something  for  him  that  lie 
is  to  examine  and  report  upon  as  accepted,  by  statute  con- 
di lions;  but  yo\:  are  to  go  after  him,  and  be  with  him,  ano 
keep  along  in  his  train,  feeding  in  his  pasture,  and  foUow' 
iijg  where  he  leads.  This  is  the  liberty,  the  beautiful  lib- 
erty of  Christ.  Claim  your  glorious  privilege,  in  the  name; 
of  a  disciple ;  be  no  more  a  servant,  wlien  Christ  will  owi'' 
you  as  a  friend. 

2.  We  discover,  in  this  subject,  what  to  tliink  of  that 
large  class  of  disciples  who  aspire  to  be  specially  faithful, 
and  hold  a  specially  high-toned  manner  of  life,  but  are 
after  all,  principally  strenuous  in  putting  others  forward, 
and  laying  burdens  upon  others.  Christ,  we  have  seen, 
goes  before  when  he  leads,  and  so  did  his  apostles,  calling 
on  the  saints  to  follow.  But  there  is  a  cheaper  way  some 
have,  in  which  they  beguile  even  themselves.  It  is  a  kind 
of  righteousness  with  them  that  they  have  such  stern  prin- 
ciples of  duty  and  sacrifice.  How  greatly  are  they  scan- 
dalized too  by  the  self-indulgence,  the  parsimony,  the  show, 
the  pleasures,  the  vanities  of  others,  who  profess  the  chris- 
tian name.  And  in  all  this  they  may  be  sincere  and  not 
hypocritical.  They  only  find  it  so  much  easier  to  be  stiff 
in  their  judgments,  and  self-renouncing  in  their  words  and 
exhortations,  that  they  slide  over,  only  the  more  unwit- 
tingly, their  own  looseness  and  deficiency,  in  the  very 
things  tli-^y  insist  on.  How  many  preachers  of  Christ  fali 
into  just  this  snare:  pray  for  us,  brethren,  for  our  tempt- 
ation is  great.  Christians  of  this  class  commonly  have  it 
as  a  kind  of  merit,  and  how  many  christian  ministers  repeal 
the  same  thing,  that  they  never  ask  it  of  others  to  follow 
them.     God  forbid  that  they  should  indulge  in  any  su.cl:: 


AND    LEAD    OF    CHRIST.  139 

oonceil  as  tliat, !  Yes,  God  forbid,  indeed,  the  conceit,  for 
It  would  be  one;  und,  what  is  more,  God  forbid  that  othera 
lie  ever  found  as  their  followers;  and  for  just  the  reason 
that  thej  do  not  follow  Christ.  They  half  consciously 
know  it  themselves — hence  their  modesty.  Would  they 
could  also  understand  how  great  a  thing  it  is  in  Christ 
and  his  first  messengers,  that  they  go  before,  to  lead  in  all 
sacrifice  and  suffering ;  doing  first  themselves  whatsoever 
they  lay  upon  others.  I  believe,  my  brethren,  that  there 
are  almost  none  of  us  who  do  not  slide  into  this  infirmity, 
complimenting  ourselves  on  the  high  principles  we  hold, 
and  the  severe  standards  we  set  up,  in  our  words  and 
judgments,  when,  in  our  practice,  we  fall  low  enough  to 
require  some  such  kind  of  comfort,  to  piece  out  our  evidence 
and  satisfaction.  And  then  we  compliment,  again,  our 
modesty,  that  we  do  not  propose  to  be  examples  to  others ! 
How  much  more  and  more  genuinely  modest  should  ■vyt 
be,  if  we  judged  only  as  we  practiced  and  set  forward 
others  in  words,  only  as  we  fortify  words  by  example. 
Let  us  understand  ourselves  in  this ;  that  we  are  not  what 
we  talk,  or  stand  for  with  our  words,  but  what  we  do  and 
become. 

3.  Consider,  in  this  subject,  what  is  true  uf  any  real 
disciple,  who  is  strajang  from  Christ ;  viz.,  that  his  Holy 
Shepherd,  folding  the  flock  and  caring  for  it  as  a  shep- 
herd should,  does  not  let  him  go,  or  take  it  onh'  as  a  fact 
that  the  flock  is  diminished  by  one,  not  caring  by  what 
one.  He  knows  what  one  it  is,  and,  if  the  wanderer  will 
listen,  he  may  hear  the  shepherd  calling  his  name.  The 
love  of  Christ,  as  we  have  seen,  is  personal  and  parricularj 
and  be  watches  for  his  flock  with  a  directly  personal  care. 
Df>  nnt  imagine,  then,  if  you  consciously  begin  to  fall  of^ 


140  THE    PEKSONAL    LOVE 

or  stray,  that  you  are  no  longer  cared  for  by  tkc  SLephcrd 
Christ  follows  you  with  his  personal  and  particular  love, 
and  will  not  let  you  go.  That  same  tenderness  Avliict 
melted  the  heart  of  an  apostle,  when  he  said — "who  lovtid 
me  and  gave  himself  for  me,"  pursues  you  still.  It  is  faith 
ful,  patient,  forgiving,  and  true ;  it  waits  and  lingers,  it 
whispers  and  calls,  saying,  "  will  ye  also  go  away  ;"  holdiiiji 
on  upon  you  by  a  personal  and  persistent  love,  tlial  will  not 
be  content  till  you  are  gathered  back  into  the  fold,  to  be, 
as  before,  a  follower.  And  the  same  is  true  where  the 
love  of  many  waxes  cold,  and  whole  bodies  of  disciples 
are  chilled  by  worldliness,  or  carried  away  by  connnou 
temptations ;  it  is  not  the  mass  only,  or  the  general  flock, 
that  Christ  regards.  Each  one  he  follows  and  calls,  as 
truly  as  if  he  were  the  only  one.  The  wrong  they  do 
him,  and  the  grief  he  feels,  is  personal.  By  name  and 
privately  he  deals  with  each,  gathering  him  back,  if  pos- 
sible, to  prayer  and  holy  living,  to  faith,  and  sacrifice,  and 
works  of  love.  By  these  private  reproofs,  and  these  ten- 
der and  personal  remonstrances,  brethren,  he  is  calling 
after  all  you  that  stray  from  him  to-day.  And,  if  you 
think  you  have  personal  apologies,  or  have  been  stolen 
away  by  temptations  you  could  not  detect,  he  knows 
exactly  what  is  true,  and  will  every  true  allowance  make, 
and,  as  being  faithful  to  you,  he  will  make  no  other. 
Whatever  grace  you  want  to  bind  you  up  and  estjiblisb 
you,  he  waits  to  bestow.  He  will  not  only  forgive  you. 
readily  and  completely,  but  he  will  embrace  you  heartily, 
and  take  you  again  to  his  confidence;  the  same  sweet 
personal  confidence  in  which  you  stood  before.  O,  thou 
wavering,  faltering,  failijig  dieciple !  come  th'Ai,  at  his  (iall, 
and  see ! 


AND    LEAD    OF    CHRIST.  141 

Finally,  consider  the  close  understanding  wilh  Christ, 
the  ennobled  confidence  and  dignity  of  a  true  disciploship. 
To  be  a  disciple,  is  to  have  the  revelation  of  Clirist,  and 
tlie  secret  witness  of  his  love  in  the  soul.  It  implies  a  most 
intimate  and  closely  reciprocal  state.  Accoi'ding  to  the 
representation  of  the  parable,  the  Holy  Shepherd  knows 
liis  own  sheep  with  a  particular  knowledge,  and  calleth 
them  by  name;  while  they,  on  their  part,  know  his  voice 
and  follow.  A  stranger  will  they  not  follow,  but  flee  from 
him  ;  for  they  know  not  the  voice  of  strangers.  And  he 
also  says  himself, —  I  am  the  good  shepherd  and  know 
my  sheep,  and  am  known  of  mine.  0,  this  deep  and 
blessed  knowledge — the  knowledge  of  Christ — to  be  in  tjie 
secret  witness  of  his  love,  to  be  in  his  guidance,  to  be 
strong  in  his  support,  to  be  led  into  the  mind  of  God  by 
him,  and  have  our  prayers  sliaped  by  his  inward  teaciiing; 
BO  to  be  set  in  God's  everlasting  counsel,  and  be  filled  with 
the  testimony  that  we  please  him,  this,  all  this  it  is  to  know 
Clirist's  voice.  Happy  are  we,  brethren,  if  the  sense  oi 
•  his  knowledge  be  in  us. 

And  what  can  fill  us  with  a  loftier  inspiration,  or  lift  uf 
into  a  more  sublime  and  blessed  confidence,  than  this, — 
the  fact  that  Christ,  the  Eternal  Shepherd,  has  a  persona] 
recognition  of  us,  leading  us  on,  by  name,  and  calling  us 
to  follow.  No  matter  whether  he  call  us  into  ways  of  gain 
or  of  suffering,  of  honor  or  of  scorn ;  it  is  all  one,  with 
auch  a  leader  before  us.  Nav,  if  we  go  down  to  sound 
the  depths  of  sorrow,  and  ennoble  the  pains  of  sacrifice, 
and  perfiune  the  grave  of  ignominy,  what  are  these  but  a 
more  inspiring  and  more  godlike  call,  since  he  is  now  our 
leadei  even  here.  O,  my  brethren,  here  is  our  misery,  that 
we  think  to  go  above  (,^hrist,  and  find  some  chcajK-r  way 


J42  LOVE    OF    CHRIST. 

when,  if  we  could  truly  descend  to  his  level  of  sacrifi'^.e 
and  take  his  cross  to  follow,  we  should  be  raised  in  feeling 
and  power,  ennobled  in  impulse,  glorified  with  him  in  his 
joy.  After  all,  the  secret  of  all  our  dryness,  the  root  of 
all  cur  weakness,  our  want  of  fruit  and  progress,  our  dearth 
and  desolation,  is,  that  we  can  not  follow  Christ.  First,  we 
can  not  believe  that  he  has  any  particular  care  of  us,  oi 
personal  interest  in  our  life,  and  then,  falling  away,  at  that 
point,  from  his  lead,  we  drop  into  ourselves,  to  do  a  few 
casual  works  of  duty,  in  which  neither  we  nor  others  are 
greatly  blessed.  God  forbid  that  we  sacrifice  our  peace  so 
cheaply.  Let  us  hear,  0,  let  us  hear,  to-day,  the  Shep- 
herd's voice,  and,  as  he  knows  us  in  our  sin,  so  let  us  go 
after  him  in  his  sacrifice.  Let  us  claim  that  inspiration, 
that  ennobled  confidence,  that  comes  of  being  truly  with 
him.  Folded  thus  in  his  personal  care,  and  led  by  the 
calling  of  his  voice,  for  which  we  always  listen,  let  us  take 
his  promi>«e  and  follow,  going  in  and  out  and  fiii:liaj^ 
pasture. 


VIII. 

LIGHT   ON   THE    CLOUD. 

Job  xxxvii.  21. — "And  now  men  see  not  the  bright  light 
which  is  in  Uie  clouds:   hut  the  wind  passeth^  and  cleanseth 

t/iem." 

The  argument  is,  let  man  be  silent  when  God  is  dealing 
with  him ;  for  he  can  not  ftithom  Grod's  inscrutable  wisdom. 
Behold,  God  is  great,  and  we  know  him  not.  God  thun- 
dereth  marvelously  with  his  voice :  great  things  doeth  he 
which  we  can  not  comprehend.  Dost  thou  know  the  won- 
drous works  of  him  that  is  perfect  in  knowledge  ?  Teach 
us  what  we  shall  say  unto  him;  for  we  can  not  order  our 
speech  by  reason  of  darknesn.  If  a  man  speak,  surely  he 
shall  be  swallowed  up. 

Then  follows  the  text,  representing  man's  life  under  the 
figure  of  a  cloudy  day.  The  sun  is  in  the  heavens,  and 
there  is  always  a  bright  light  on  the  other  side  of  the 
clouds ;  but  only  a  dull,  pale  beam  pierces  through.  Still, 
us  the  wind  comes  at  length  to  the  natural  day  of  3l(juds, 
clearing  them  all  away,  and  pouring  in,  from  the  whole 
firmament,  a  glorious  and  joyful  light,  so  will  a  grand 
Clearing  come  to  the  cloudy  and  dark  day  of  life,  and  a 
full  effulgence  of  light,  from  the  throne  of  God,  will  irra- 
diate all  the  objects  of  knowledge  and  experience. 

Our  reading  of  the  text,  you  will  observe,  substitutes 
for  cleansing,  clearing  away,  which  is  more  intelligible 
Perhaps,  also,  it  is  better  to  read  "  on  the  clouds,'"  and  not 


144  LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUD 

"in."  Still,  tlie  meaning  is  virtually  the  same.  The 
words,  thus  explained,  offer  three  points  which  invite  our 
attention. 

I.    We  live  under  a  cloud,' and  set  Gcd's  loay  only  hy  a 
d'jn  light. 

II.   God  shines,  at  all  times,  luith  a  bright  light,  above  th<i 
vioud,  and  on  the  other  side  of  it. 

III.   This  child  of  obscuration  is  finally  to  he  cleared  auay. 

I.  We  live  under  a  cloud,  and  see  God's  way  only  by  a 
dim  light. 

As  beings  of  intelligence,  we  find  ourselves  hedged  in 
by  mystery  on  every  side.  All  our  seeming  knowledge 
is  skirted,  close  at  hand,  by  dnrk  confines  of  ignorance. 
However  drunk  with  conceit  we  may  be,  however  ready 
to  judge  ewery  thing,  we  still  comprehend  almost  nothing. 

What  then  does  it  mean  ?  Is  God  jealous  of  intelligence 
in  us?  Has  he  purposely  drawn  a  cloud  over  his  ways, 
Lo  baffle  the  search  of  our  understanding  ?  Exactly  con- 
trary to  this ;  he  is  a  being  who  dwelleth  in  light,  and  calls 
us  to  walk  in  the  lighi  with  him.  He  has  set  his  works 
about  us,  to  be  a  revelation  to  us  always  of  his  power  and 
glory.  His  word  he  gives  us,  to  be  the  expression  ot  his 
will  and  character,  and  bring  us  into  acquaintance  with 
himself  His  Spirit  he  gives  us,  to  be  a  teacher  and  illu- 
minator within.  By  all  his  providential  works,  he  is  train- 
ing intelligence  in  us  and  making  us  capable  of  knowledge. 

Kg  view  of  the  subject,  therefore,  can  be  true  that  accuses 
bim.  The  true  account  appears  to  be  that  the  cloud,  under 
which  we  are  shut  down,  is  not  heavier  than  it  must  be. 
He  w  can  a  being  infinite  be  understood,  or  comprehende(?. 


LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUD,  14P 

by  a  being  finite?  And,  when  this  being  infinite  has  phiiia 
that  include  infinite  quantities,  times  and  relations,  in  which 
every  present  event  is  the  last  link  of  a  train  of  causes 
reaching  downward  from  a  past  eternity,  and  is  to  be  con- 
nected also  with  every  future  event  of  a  future  eternity, 
how  can  a  mortal,  placed  between  these  two  eternities,  with- 
out  knowing  either,  understand  the  present  fact,  wht.tevc^r 
it  be,  whose  reasons  are  in  both? 

Besides,  we  have  only  just  begun  to  be;  and  a  begun 
existence  is,  by  the  supposition,  one  that  has  just  begun  to 
know,  and  has  every  thing  to  learn.  How  then  can  we 
expect,  in  a  few  short  years,  to  master  the  knowledge  of 
God  and  his  universal  kingdom?  What  can  he  be 
to  such  but  a  mystery?  If  we  could  think  him  out, 
without  any  experience,  as  we  do  the  truths  of  arithmetic 
and  geometry,  we  might  get  on  faster  and  more  easily. 
But  God  is  not  a  mere  thought  of  our  own  brain,  as  these 
truths  are,  but  a  being  in  the  world  of  substance,  fact  and 
event,  and  all  such  knowledge  has  to  be  gotten  slowly, 
through  the  rub  of  experience.  We  open,  after  a  few 
days,  our  infantile  eyes  and  begin  to  look  about,  perceive, 
handle,  suffer,  act  and  be  acted,  on,  and,  proceeding  in  this 
mxanner,  we  gather  in,  by  degrees,  our  data  and.  material 
of  knowledge;  and  so,  by  trial,  comparison,  distinction,  the 
study  of  effects  and  wants,  of  rights  and  wrongs,  of  uses 
and  abuses,  we  frame  judgments  of  things,  and  begin  to 
pfi8s  our  verdict  on  the  matters  we  know.  But  how  long 
will  it  take  us  to  penetrate,  in  this  manner,  the  real  signifi- 
cance of  God's  dealings  with  us  and  the  world,  and  pass  a 
really  illuminated  judgment  on  them?  And  yet,  if  we 
but  love  the  right,  as  the  first  father  did  before  his  .sin, 
God  will  be  revealed  in  us  internally,  as  the  object  of  an 


146  LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUD. 

love  and  trust,  even  from  the  first  hour.  He  will  not  ap 
pear  to  be  distant,  or  difficult.  We  shall  know  him  Jis  .'i 
friendlj  presence  in  our  heart's  love,  and  we  shall  have 
such  a  blessed  confidence  in  him  that  if,  in  the  outer  worhl 
of  fact  and  event,  clouds  and  darkness  appear  to  be  rou  nd 
about  him,  wc  shall  have  the  certainty  within  that  justice 
and  judgment  are  the  habitation  of  his  throne.  Meanwhile, 
lie  will  be  teaching  us  graciously,  and  drawing  us  insen- 
sibly, through  our  holy  sympathies,  into  the  sense  of  hia 
ways,  and  widening,  as  fast  as  possible,  the  circle  of  our 
human  limitation,  that  we  may  expatiate  in  discoveries 
more  free.  And  thus  it  comes  to  pass  that,  as  the  eyelids 
of  the  infant  are  shut  down,  at  first,  over  his  unpracticcd 
eyes,  which  are  finally  strengthened  for  the  open  day,  by 
the  little,  faint  light  that  shines  through  them,  so  our  finite, 
childish  mind,  saved  from  being  dazzled,  or  struck  blind, 
by  God's  powerful  effulgence,  and  quickened  by  the  gentle 
light  that  streams  through  his  cloud,  is  prepared  to  gazt 
oji  the  fullness  of  his  glor3^,  and  receive  his  piercing  bright 
ness  undimmed. 

But  there  is  another  fact  less  welcome  that  must  not  bo 
forgot,  when  we  speak  of  the  darkness  that  obscures  our 
knowledge  of  God.  There  is  not  ox\\j  a  necessary,  but  a 
guilty  limitation  upon  us.  And  therefore  we  are  not  only 
obliged  to  learn,  but,  as  being  under  sin,  are  also  in  a 
temper  that  forbids  learning,  having  our  mind  disordeixd 
and  clouded  by  evil.  Hence,  come  our  perplexities;  for, 
as  the  sun  can  nol  show  distinctly  what  it  is  in  the  bottom 
of  a  muddy  pool,  so  God  can  never  be  distinctly  revealed  in 
the  depths  of  a  foul  and  earthly  mind.  To  understand  a 
philosopher  requires,  they  tell  us  a  philosopher ;  founder- 
stand  patriotism,  requires  a  patriot ;  to  understand  purity 


LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUB.  147 

one  that  is  pure;  so,  to  understand  God,  requir-.'s  a  goJlike 
spiiit.  Having  this,  God  will  as  certainly  be  revealed  in 
the  soul,  as  light  through  a  transparent  window.  He  that 
loveth  knowetb  God,  for  God  is  love.  Wliat  darkntsa 
ili^-n  must  be  upon  a  mind  that  is  not  congenially  tempered, 
a  mind  uidike  to  God,  opposite  to  God,  selfish,  lustful,  re- 
morseful, and  malignant!  Even  as  an  apostle  says-Hav- 
mg  the  understanding  darkened,  being  alienated  from  the 
life  of  God,  through  the  ignorance  that  is  in  them,  because 
of  the  blindness  of  their  heart. 

The  very  activity  of  reason,  which  ought  to  beget  knowl- 
edge, begets  only  darkness  now,  artificial  darkness.  W^3 
begin  a  quarrel  with  limitation  itself,  and  so  with  God. 
lile  is  not  only  hid  beliind  thick  walls  of  mystery,  but  he 
is  dreaded  as  a  power  unfriendly,  suspected,  doubted,  re- 
pugnantl}^  conceived.  Whatever  can  not  be  comprehend- 
ed, and  how  very  little  can  be,  is  construed  as  one  con- 
strues an  enemy,  or  as  an  ill-natured  child  construes  tlic 
authority  of  a  faithful  father.  An  evil  judgement  taken 
up  yesterday  prepares  another  to-day,  and  this  another  to- 
mon-ow,  and  so  a  vast  complicated  web  of  false  judgments, 
in  the  name  of  reason,  \^  spread  over  all  the  subjects  of 
knowledge.  We  fall  into  a  state  thus  of  general  confusion, 
in  which  even  the  distinctions  of  knowledge  are  lost. 
Presenting  our  little  mirror  to  the  clear  light  of  God,  we 
might  have  received  true  images  of  things,  and  gotten  by 
ijegrees  a  glorious  wealth  of  knowledge,  but  we  break  the 
mirror,  m  the  perversity  of  our  ^in,  and  offer  only  the 
shivered  fragments  to  the  light ;  when,  of  course,  we  see 
distinctly  nothing.  Then,  probably  enough,  we  begin  to 
sympathize  with  ourselves  and  justifj^  the  ignorance  we 
x-re  in,  wondering,  if  there  be  a  God,  thj  t  he  should  be  aa 


148  LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUD 

dark  to  us,  or  that  he  should  fall  behind  these  walls  ol 
sileiK^e,  and  suffer  himself  to  be  only  doubtfully  guessiitl 
through  f  ">gs  of  ignorance  and  obscurity.  Eemiiided  thai 
he  is  and  must  be  a  mystery,  we  take  it  as  a  great  hard- 
ehip,  or,  u  may  be,  an  abswdity,  that  we  are  required  to 
believe  what  we  can  not  comprehend.  We  are  perplexcil 
by  the  mode  of  his  existence  and  action — how  can  he  fill 
all  things,  and  yet  have  no  dimensions  ?  How  is  it  that 
he  knows  all  things,  before  the  things  known  exist  ?  Fore- 
knowing  what  we  will  do,  how  can  we  be  blamed  for  what 
we  were  thus  certain  beforehand  to  do?  How  is  it  that 
he  creates,  governs,  redeems,  and  yet  never  forms  a  new 
purpose,  or  originates  a  new  act,  which  is  not  from  eternity? 
Plow  is  he  infinitely  happy,  when  a  great  many  things 
ought  to  be,  and  are  declared  to  be,  repugnant  or  abhor- 
rent to  his  feeling?  How  does  he  produce  worlds  out  of 
nothing,  or  out  of  himself,  when  nothing  else  exists? 
How  did  he  invent  forms  and  colors,  never  having  seen 
them  ? 

Entering  the  field  of  supposed  revelation,  the  difficulties 
are  increased  in  number,  and  the  mysteries  are  piled  higher 
than  before.  God  is  here  declared  to  be  incarnate,  in  the 
person  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  the  whole  history  of  this 
wonderful  person  is  made  up  of  things  logically  incom- 
patible. He  is  the  eternal  son  of  God,  and  the  son  of 
Mary ;  he  is  Lord  of  all,  and  is  born  in  a  manger ;  stills 
the  sea  by  his  word,  and  traveling  on  foot  is  weary ;  asks, 
who  convineeth  me  of  sin  ?  and  praj^s  like  one  wading 
through  all  the  deepest  evils  of  sin ;  dies  like  a  man 
and  rises  like  a  god,  bursting  the  bars  of  death  by  his 
power.  Even  God  himself  is  no  more  simply  God,  but  a 
tlireefold  mystery  that  mocks  all  understanding, — Father 


LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUD.  l49 

Son,  and  Iloly  Gliost  Is  il  revelation,  then,  tliat  ciilj 
burdens  faith  with  luj^steries  more  nearly  impossible? 
Exactly  so ;  nothing  is  more  clear  to  any  really  thoughtful 
person  than  that,  until  some  high  point  is  passed,  God 
ought  to  be  enveloped  in  greater  mystery,  and  will  be,  the 
closer  he  is  I  rought  to  the  mind.  Knowing  nothing  ol 
him,  he  is  no  mystery  at  all ;  knowing  a  little,  he  is  mys- 
tery begun;  knowing  more,  he  is  a  great  and  manifold 
deep,  not  t)  be  fathomed.  We  are,  and  ought  to  be,  over- 
whelmed t»y  his  magnitudes,  till  we  are  able  to  mount 
higher  summits  of  intelligence  than  now.  Or,  if  it  be 
answered  that,  in  some  of  these  things,  we  have  contra- 
dictions, and  not  mere  difficulties,  it  is  enough  to  reply 
that  the  highest  truths  are  wont  to  be  expressed  in  form? 
of  thought  and  language  that,  as  forms,  are  repugnant. 
Nor  is  it  any  fault  of  these  mere  instrumental  contradic- 
tions that  Ave  can  not  reconcile  them,  if  only  they  roll  upou 
us  senses  of  God's  deep  majesty  and  love,  otherwise  im- 
possible. Our  amazement  itself  is  but  the  vehicle  of  Iuh 
truth. 

Turning  next  to  the  creative  w^orks  of  God,  we  find  the 
cloud  also  upon  these.  The  Lord  by  wisdom  hath  founded 
the  earth,  by  understanding  hath  he  established  the 
heavens^  there  is  no  searching  of  his  understanding;  why 
be  created  the  worlds  when  he  did,  and  not  before;  what 
he  could  have  been  doing,  or  what  enjoyment  having, 
previous  to  their  creation  ;  and,  if  all  things  are  govern(?d 
by  inherent  laws,  what  more,  as  the  universal  governor, 
he  can  find  any  place  to  do  since : — -these  are  questions, 
again,  before  which  speculative  reason  reels  in  amazement 
If  the  baffled  inquirer  then  drops  out  the  search  aft'T  God. 
as  many  do,  and  says, — I  wnll  go  down  to  nature  and  it 

13* 


150  LIGHT    ON    'IHE    CLOL^D. 

shall,  at  least,  be  my  comfort  that  nature  is  iutelligihlt;, 
and  even  a  subject  of  definite  science,  he  shortly  discovers 
that  science  only  changes  the  place  of  mystery  and  leaves 
it  unresolved.  Hearing,  with  a  kind  of  scientific  pity, 
Job's  question  about  the  thunder, — who  can  understaiul 
the  noise  of  his  tabernacle?  he  at  first  thinks  it  somethinj» 
of  consequence  to  say  that  thunder  is  the  noise  of  electricity, 
and  not  of  God's  tabernacle  at  all.  But  he  shortly  finds 
himself  asking,  who  can  understand  electricity?  and  then, 
at  last,  he  is  with  Job  again.  So,  when  he  hears  Job  a&k, 
Knowest  thou  the  ordinances  of  heaven, — he  recollecta 
the  great  Newtonian  discovery  of  gravity,  and  how,  by 
aid  of  that  principle,  even  the  weights  of  the  stars  have 
been  exactly  measured,  and  their  times  predicted,  and  im- 
agines that,  now  the  secrets  of  astronomy  are  out,  the  ordi- 
nances of  heaven  are  understood.  But  here,  again,  it 
nnally  occurs  to  him  to  ask,  what  is  gravity  ?  and  forth- 
with he  is  lost  in  a  depth  of  mystery  as  profound  as  that 
of  Job  himself.  And  so,  asking  what  is  matter, — what  is 
life,  animal  and  vegetable, — what  is  heat,  light,  attraction, 
affinity, — he  discovers  that,  as  yet,  we  really  comprehend 
nothing,  and  that  nature  is  a  realm  as  truly  mysterious 
even  as  God.  Not  a  living  thing  grows  out  of  the  earth, 
or  walks  upon  it,  or  flies  above  it ;  not  an  inanimate  object 
exists,  in  heaven,  earth,  or  sea,  which  is  not  filled  and  cir- 
cled about  with  mystery  as  truly  as  in  the  days  of  Adam 
or  Job,  and  which  is  not  really  as  much  above  the  under- 
standing of  science,  as  the  deepest  things  of  God's  eternity 
or  of  his  secret  life. 

But  there  is,  at  least,  one  subject  that  he  must  undei: 
stand  and  know  even  to  its  center ;  viz.,  himself.  Is  he 
not  a  8{i)f-conscious  being,  and  how  can  there  be  a  cloud 


LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUD.  Vj\ 

over  tbat  which  is  comprehended  even  by  consciousness 
itself?  Precisely  contrary  to  this,  there  are  more  rcyste 
ries  and  dark  questions  grouped  in  his  own  person,  than  h'j 
has  ever  met  in  the  whole  universe  beside.  He  can  not 
even  trace,  with  an}^  exactness,  the  process  by  which  he  ha? 
been  trained  to  be  what  he  is,  or  the  subtle  forces  by  whicli 
his  character  ha^^  been  shaped.  Only  the  smallest  fraction 
of  his  past  history  can  he  distinctly  remember,  all  the  rest 
is  gone.  Even  the  sins  for  which  he  must  answer  before 
God  are  gone  out  of  his  reach,  and  can  no  more  be  reck 
oned  up  in  order,  till  the  forgotten  past  gives  up  its  deaa 
things,  to  be  again  remembered.  As  little  can  he  discover 
the  manner  of  his  own  spirit,  how  he  remembers,  perceives 
objects,  compares  them,  and,  above  all,  how  he  wills  and 
what  it  is  that  drives  him  to  a  sentence  against  himselt 
when  he  wills  the  wrong.  He  knows  too  that,  in  wrong, 
he  is  after  self-advantage;  and  every  wrong,  he  also  knew 
at  the  time,  must  be  to  his  disadvantage ;  why  then  did 
he  do  it?  He  can  not  tell.  The  sin  of  his  sin  will  be, 
when  he  is  judged  before  God,  that  he  can  not  tell.  Even 
the  familiar  fact  of  his  connection  with  a  body  is  altogether 
inexplicable;  and  why  any  act  of  his  will  should  produce 
a  motion  of  his  body,  he  can  no  more  discover  than  why 
it  should  produce  a  motion  among  the  stars.  The  beating 
of  his  heart  and  the  heaving  of  his  lungs  are  equally  mys- 
terious In  his  whole  nature  and  experience,  he  is,  in  fact, 
a  deep  and  inscrutable  mystery  to  himself.  God  breathes 
unseen  in  his  heart,  and  yet  he  wonders  that  God  is  so 
far  off.  Death  comes  in  stealthily,  and  distills  the  fatal 
poison  that  will  end  his  life,  unseen  and  unsi  speoted.  lie. 
goes  down  to  his  grave,  not  knowing,  by  any  judgment 
of  his  own,  apart  from  God's  promise,  (whic^a  he  dt)eg  not 


1 52  LIGHT    ON    THE    CLOUD. 

believe,)  that  he  shall  live  again.  What  shall  be  the  Tnarinei 
of  his  resurrection  and  with  what  borly  he  shall  come,  he 
can  as  little  comprehend,  as  he  can  the  mysterj  of  the  in- 
carnation. 

Finding,  therefore,  God,  nature,  himself,  overhung  with, 
this  same  cloud,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  he  suffers  bittc 
afflictions  and  galls  nimself  against  every  corner  of  God's 
purposes.  Why  is  society  a  weight  so  oppressive  on  the 
weak  and  the  poor?  If  sin  is  such  an  evil,  as  it  certainly 
is,  why  did  the  Creator,  being  Almighty,  suffer  it?  In- 
deed, there  is  almost  nothing  that  meets  us,  between  our 
first  breathing  and  our  graves,  that  does  not,  to  an  evil 
mind,  connect,  in  one  way  or  another,  some  perplexity, 
some  accusing  or  questioning  thought,  some  inference  that 
is  painful,  or  perhaps  atheistical.  Can  it  be  ?  Why  should 
it  be  ?  How  can  a  good  God  let  it  be  ?  If  he  means  to 
have  it  otherwise,  is  he  not  defeated  ?  if  defeated,  is  he 
God  ?  If  he  has  no  plan,  how  can  I  trust  him  ?  if  his 
plan  will  suffer  such  things,  how  then  can  I  trust  him? — 
these  are  the  questions  that  are  continually  crowding  upon 
us.  The  cloud  is  all  the  while  over  us.  He  hath  made 
darkness  his  pavilion  and  thick  clouds  of  the  skies.  This 
man's  prosperit}^  is  dark ;  that  man's  adversity  is  dark. 
The  persecutions  of  the  good,  the  afflictions  of  the  right- 
eous, the  desolations  of  conquest,  the  flill  of  nations  and 
their  liberties,  the  extinction  of  churches,  the  sufferings  of 
innocence,  the  pains  of  animals,  the  removal  by  death  of 
genius  and  character  just  ripened  to  bless  the  world —  there 
is  no  end  to  our  dark  questions.  There  are  times,  too, 
when  our  own  personal  experience  becomes  enveloped  iu 
darkness.  We  not  onl}'-  can  not  guess  what  it  means,  oi 
what  God  will  do  with  us  in  it,  but  it  vrears  a  look  contrary 


LIGHT     ON    THE    CLOUD.  15^ 

to  wliat  appear  to  be  our  just  expectations,  Wc  arc  gi  ieved 
perplexed,  confounded.  Other  men  are  blcsso  il  in  thing?, 
much  worse.  We  ourselves  have  been  successful  in  things 
far  n-iore  questionable,  and  when  our  deserts  were  less. 
What  does  it  mean  that  God  is  covering  his  way,  under 
these  thick  clouds  of  mystery  and  seeming  ca})rice?  Iii 
short,  we  may  sum  it  up,  as  a  general  truth,  that  nothing 
in  the  world  is  really  luminous,  to  a  mind  unilluminatcd 
by  religion ;  and,  if  we  say  that  the  Christian  walks  in  tlic 
light,  it  is  not  so  much  that  he  can  always  understand 
God  as  it  is  that  he  has  confidence  in  him,  and  has  him 
always  near. 

Thus  we  live.  Practically,  much  is  known  about  God 
and  his  ways,  all  that  we  need  to  know ;  but,  speculatively,, 
or  by  the  mere  understanding,  almost  nothing,  save  thai 
we  can  not  know.  The  believing  mind  dwells  in  continual 
light ;  for,  when  God  is  revealed  within,  curious  and  per 
plexing  questions  are  silent.  But  the  mind  that  judges 
God,  or  demands  a  right  to  comprehend  him  before  it  be- 
lieves, stumbles,  compkuns,  wrangles,  and  finds  no  issue 
to  its  labor.  Still  there  is  light,  and  we  pass  on  now  to 
show, — 

II.  That  there  is  abundance  of  light  on  the  other  side 
of  the  cloud,  and  above  it. 

This  we  might  readily  infer,  from  the  fact  that  so  much 
of  light  shines  through.  When  the  clouds  overhrad  are 
utterly  black,  too  black  to  be  visible,  we  understand  thai 
it  is  night,  or  that  the  sun  is  absent ;  but,  when  there  is  a 
practical  and  sufficient  light  for  our  works,  we  k:  ow  that 
the  sun  is  behind  them,  and  we  call  it  day.  So  il  is  when 
God  spreadeth  a  cloud  upon  his  throne.     We  could  nol 


154  lictHT  on  the  cloui;.. 

Bee  even  the  mystery,  if  there  were  no  light  behind  it 
just  as  we  could  not  see  the  clouds  if  no  lii^ht  shon< 
til  rough. 

The  experience  of  every  soul  that  turns  to  God  is  a  con- 
vincing proof  that  there  is  light  somewhere,  and  that  which 
is  brighu  and  clear.  Was  it  a  man  struggling  with  great 
ufflictions,  an  inj  ured  man  crushed  by  heavy  wrongs ,  was 
it  a  man  desolated  and  broken  down  by  domestic  sorrows; 
was  it  a  rich  man  stripped  by  sore  losses  and  calamities 
was  it  a  proud  man  blasted  by  slander;  was  it  an  atheist 
groping  after  curious  knowledge  and  starving  on  the  chaff 
of  questions  unresolved — be  it  one  or  another  of  these. 
for  all  allKe  were  tormented  in  the  same  perplexities  of  the 
iarkeneu  anderstanding,  every  thing  was  dark  and  dry 
and  einpt;)  ;  but  when  they  come  to  Christ  and  believe  ir. 
liim,  it  is  their  common  surprise  to  find  how  suddenly 
every  thing  becomes  luminous.  Speculatively,  they  un- 
derstand nothing  which  before  was  hidden,  and  yet  there 
\a  a  wondrous  glory  shining  on  tlieir  path.  God  is  revealed 
within,  and  God  is  light.  The  flaming  circle  of  eternal 
day  skirts  the  horizon  of  the  mind.  Their  dark  questions 
are  forgot,  or  left  behind.  They  are  even  become  insig- 
nificant. Their  dignitv  is  gone,  and  the  soul,  basking  in 
the  blessed  sunshine  of  God's  love,  thinks  it  nothing,  any 
aiore,  if  it  could  understand  all  mysteries.  In  all  which  it 
IS  made  plain  that,  if  we  are  under  the  cloud,  there  is  yet 
a  bright  light  above. 

It  will  also  be  found,  as  another  indication,  that  thingsi 
which,  at  some  time,  appeared  to  be  dark, — afflictions,  losses, 
crials,  wrongs,  defeated  prayers,  and  deeds  of  suffering  pa- 
tience yielding  no  fruit, — are  very  apt,  afterward,  to  change 
:olor  and  become  visitations  of  mercy.,     And  so  where 


LIGHT  ON   THE   CLOUD.  155 

Grod  was  specially  dark,  he  commonly  brings  out,  in  the 
end,  some  good,  or  blessing  in  which  the  subject  discovert 
that  his  Heavenly  Father  only  understood  his  wants  bctteJ 
tlian  he  did  himself.  God  was  dark  in  his  way  only  he 
cause  his  goodness  was  too  deep  in  counsel,  for  him  to  foL 
low  it  to  its  mark.  It  is  with  him  as  with  Joseph,  sold 
into  slavery,  and  so  into  the  rule  of  a  kingdom;  or  as  it 
was  with  Job,  whose  latter  end,  after  he  had  been  strip] )ed 
of  every  thing,  was  more  blessed  than  his  beginning ;  or 
as  with  Nehemiah,  whose  sorrowing  and  disconsolate  look 
itself  brought  him  the  opportunity  to  restore  the  desola- 
tions over  which  he  sorrowed.  Even  the  salvation  of  tho 
world  is  accomplislicd  through  treachery,  false  witness, 
and  a  cross.  All  our  experience  in  life  goes  to  show  that 
the  better  understanding  we  have  of  God's  dealings,  the 
more  satisfactory  they  appear.  Things  which  seemed  dark 
or  inexplicable,  or  even  impossible  for  God  to  suffer  with- 
out wrong  in  himself,  are  really  bright  with  goodness  in 
the  end.  What  then  shall  we  conclude,  but  that,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  cloud,  there  is  always  a  bright  and  glori- 
ous light,  however  dark  it  is  underneath. 

Hence  it  is  that  the  scriptures  make  so  much  of  God'a 
character  as  a  light-giving  power,  and  turn  the  figure  about 
into  so  many  forms.  In  God,  they  say,  is  light  and  nc 
darkness  at  all.  According  to  John's  vision  of  the  Lord-  - 
His  countenance  was  as  the  sun  that  shineth  in  his  strengtii. 
The  image  of  him  given  by  another  apostle  is  even  more 
sublimCj — AVho  only  hath  immortality  dwelling  in  light 
tluit  no  man  can  approach  unto, — language,  possibly,  in 
which  he  had  some  reference  to  his  owai  conversion,  when 
a  light,  above  the  brightness  of  the  sun,  bursting  "ipoD 
him  and  shining  round  about  him,  seared  his  eye-balls    so 


156  LIGHT  ON   THE   CLOUD. 

that  after-ward  there  fell  off  from  them,  as  it  had  been, 
scales  of  cinder.  God,  therefore,  he  conceives  to  be  light 
inapproachable,  as  figured  in  that  experience.  And  proba 
blj  enough  he  would  say  that,  as  the  astronomers  in  look- 
ing at  the  sun  arm  their  sight  with  a  smoky  or  colored 
medium,  so  the  very  clouds  we  complain  of  are  mercifully 
interposed,  in  part,  and  rather  assist  than  hinder  our  visiori. 
It  is  little  therefore  to  say,  and  ahould  never  be  a  fact  in- 
credible, that  however  dark  our  lot  may  be,  there  is  light 
enough  on  the  other  side  of  the  cloud,  in  that  pure  emp}^- 
rean  where  God  dwells,  to  irradiate  every  darkness  of  the 
world ;  light  enough  to  clear  every  difficult  question,  re- 
move ever}^  ground  of  obscurity,  conquer  every  atheistic  sus- 
picion, silence  every  hard  judgment ;  light  enough  to  satisfy, 
nay  to  ravish  the  mind  forever.  Even  the  darkest  things 
God  has  explanations  for,  and  it  is  only  necessary  to  be  let 
into  his  views  and  designs,  as  when  we  are  made  capable 
of  being  we  certainly  shall,  to  see  a  transcendent  wisdom 
and  beauty  in  them  all.  At  present,  we  have  no  capacity 
Vjroad  enough  to  comprehend  such  a  revelation.  We  see 
through  a  glass  darkly,  but  we  see  what  we  can.  When 
we  can  see  more,  there  is  more  to  be  seen.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  cloud  there  is  abundance  of  light.  ^Phis  brings 
me  to  say, — 

III.  That  the  cloud  we  arc  under  will  finally  break  waj^ 
and  be  cleared. 

On  this  point  we  have  many  distinct  indications.  Thus 
it  coincides  with  the  general  analogy  of  God's  works,  to 
^ook  f(  r  obscurity  first,  and  light  afterward.  According 
to  the  scripture  account  of  the  creation,  there  was,  first,  a 
period  of  complete  darkness;  then  a  period  of  mist  and 


LIGHT   ON   THE    CLOUD.  151 

cloud,  where  the  daylight  is  visible,  but  no^  the  sun: 
then  the  sun  beams  out  in  a  clear  open  skj,  which  \t 
called,  in  a  way  of  external  description,  the  creation  of  the 
sun.  How  many  of  the  animals  begin  their  life  at  bi:th 
with  their  eyes  closed,  which  are  afterward  opened  to  be- 
hold the  w  ^x.d  into  which  they  have  come.  How  many 
myriads  of  insects  begin  their  existence  underground, 
emerging  afterward  from  their  dark  abode,  to  take  winga 
and  glitter  in  the  golden  light  of  day.  If  we  observe  the 
manner  too  of  our  own  intellectual  discoveries,  we  shall 
generally  see  the  inquirer  groping  long  and  painfully  im- 
der  a  cloud,  trying  and  experimenting  in  a  thousand  guess- 
es to  no  purpose,  till  finally  a  thought  takes  him  and  be- 
hold the  difficulty  is  solved  I  At  a  single  flash,  so  to  speak, 
the  light  breaks  in,  and  what  before  was  dark  is  clear 
and  simple  as  the  day.  Darkness  first  and  light  after- 
ward, this  is  the  law  of  science  universally.  By  so 
many  and  various  analogies,  we  are  led  to  expect  thai 
the  cloud,  under  which  we  live  in  things  spiritual, 
will  finally  be  lifted,  and  the  splendor  of  eternal  glory 
poured  around  us. 

Our  desire  of  knowledge,  and  the  manner  in  which  God 
manages  to  inflame  that  desire,  indicate  the  same  thing.  This 
desire  he  has  planted  naturally  in  us,  as  hunger  is  natura" 
in  our  bodies,  or  the  want  of  light  in  our  eyes.  And  th', 
eye  is  not  a  more  certain  indication  that  light  is  to  be  giv 
on,  than  our  desire  to  know  divine  things  is  that  we  shall 
be  permitted  to  know  them.  And  the  evidence  is  yet 
further  increased,  in  the  fact  that  the  good  have  a  stronger 
desire  of  this  knowledge  than  mere  nature  kindles.  And 
if  we  say,  with  the  scripture,  that  the  fear  of  the  liord  ie 
the  beginning  of  knowledge,  doubtless  the  body  of  it  is  r^ 

14 


158  LIGHT  ON  THE   CLOUD. 

come  after.  It  is  the  glory  of  God,  indeed,  to  conceal  a 
thing,  but  not  absolutely,  or  for  the  sake  of  concealment 
llo  does  it  only  till  a  mind  and  appetite  for  the  truth  is 
pieparcd.  to  make  his  revelation  to.  He  gives  us  a  dim 
light  and  sets  us  prying  at  the  Myalls  of  mystery,  that  ho 
may  create  an  appetite  and  relish  in  us  for  true  knowledge. 
Then  it  shall  be  a  joyful  and  glorious  gift — drink  to  the 
thirsty,  food  to  the  hungry,  light  to  the  prisoner's  cell. 
And  he  will  pour  it  in  from  the  whole  firmament  of  his 
glor}^  He  will  open  his  secret  things,  open  the  bounda- 
ries of  universal  order,  open  his  own  glorious  mind  and 
his  eternal  purposes. 

The  scriptures  also  notify  us  of  a  grand  assize,  or  judg- 
ment, when  the  merit  of  all  his  doings  with  us,  as  of  our 
doings  toward  him,  will  be  revised,  and  it  appears  to  be  a 
demand  of  natural  reason  that  some  grand  exposition  of 
the  kind  should  be  made,  that  we  may  be  let  into  tlic  man- 
ner of  his  government  far  enough  to  do  it  honor.  This 
will  require  him  to  take  away  the  cloud,  in  regard  to  all 
that  is  darkest  in  our  earthly  state.  Every  perplexity 
must  now  be  cleared,  and  the  whole  moral  administration 
of  God,  as  related  to  the  soul,  must  be  sufficiently  ex- 
plained. Sin,  the  fall,  the  pains  and  penalties  and  disabili- 
ties consequent,  redemption,  grace,  the  discipline  of  the 
righteous,  the  abandonment  of  the  incorrigibly  wicked — all 
these  must  now  be  understood.  God  has  light  enough  to 
shed  on  all  these  things,  and  he  will  not  conceal  it.  He 
will  shine  forth  in  glorious  and  transcendent  brightness,  un- 
masked by  cloud,  and  all  created  minds,  but  the  incorrigi- 
ble outcasts  and  enemies  of  his  government,  will  respond;— 
Alleluia,  salvation,  and  glory,  and  honor,  and  power  be 
nnto  tliG  Lord  our  God ;  for  just  and  true  are  his  judgmruta 


LIGHT  ON  THE   CLOUD.  158 

Precisely  what  is  to  be  the  manner  and  measnre  of  our 
knowledge,  in  this  fuller  and  more  glorious  revelation  ol 
the  future,  is  not  clear  to  ns  now,  for  that  is  one  of  the  dark 
things,  or  mysteries,  of  our  present  state.  But  the  lai*- 
guage  of  scripture  is  remarkable.  It  even  declares  thai 
wa  shall  see  Goa  as  he  is ;  and  the  intensity  of  the  expres- 
sion is  augmented,  if  possible,  by  the  effects  attributed  to 
the  sight — we  shall  be  like  him,  for  we  shall  see  him  as  he 
is.  We  shall  be  so  irradiated  and  penetrated,  in  other 
words,  by  his  glor}'^,  as  to  be  transformed  into  a  spiritual 
resemblance;  partaking  his  purity,  reflecting  his  beauty, 
ennobled  by  his  divinity.  It  is  even  declared  that  our 
knowledge  of  him  shall  be  complete.  Now  we  know  in 
part,  then  shall  we  know  even  as  also  we  are  known.  To 
say  that  we  shall  know  God  as  he  knows  us,  is  certainly 
the  strongest  declaration  possible,  and  il  is  probably  hy- 
perbolical ;  for  it  would  seem  to  be  incredible  that  a  finite 
mind  should  at  once,  or  even  at  any  time  in  its  eternity, 
comprehend  the  infinite,  as  it  is  comprehended  by  the  in- 
finite. It  is  also  more  agreeable  to  suppose  that  there  will 
be  an  everlasting  growth  in  knowledge,  and  that  the  bless- 
ed minds  will  be  forever  penetrating  new  depths  of  dis- 
covery, clearing  up  wider  fields  of  obscurity,  attaining  to 
a  higher  converse  with  God  and  a  deeper  insight  of  his 
works,  and  that  this  breaking  forth  of  light  and  beauty  in 
them  by  degrees  and  u})on  search,  will  both  occupy  their 
powers  and  feed  their  joy.  Still,  that  thei-e  will  be  a  great 
and  sudden  clearing  of  God's  way,  as  we  enter  that  world, 
and  a  real  dispersion  of  all  the  clouds  that  darken  us  here, 
is  doubtless  to  be  expected ;  for  when  our  sin  is  com])letely 
taken  away,  (as  we  know  it  then  will  be,)  all  our  gv.iilt;y 
blindness  will  go  with  it,  and  that  of  itself  w.'U  prepare  « 


160  LIGHT   ON   THE   CLOUD. 

glorious  unveiling  of  God  and  a  vision  of  his  beauty  am 
it  is. 

In  what  manner  we  shall  become  acquaint  ed  with  God'd 
mind,  or  the  secrets  of  his  interior  life,  wh(ither  through 
some  manifestation  by  the  Eternal  Word,  like  the  incarnate 
appearing  of  Jesus,  or  j^artly  in  some  way  more  direct, 
we  can  not  tell.  But  the  divine  nature  and  plan  will  be 
open,  doubtless,  in  some  way  most  appropriate,  for  our 
everlasting  study  and  our  everlasting  progress  in  discovery. 
The  whole  system  of  his  moral  purposes  and  providential 
decrees,  his  penal  distributions  and  redeeming  works,  will 
be  accessible  to  us,  and  all  the  creatures  and  creations  oi 
his  power  offei-ed  to  our  acquaintance  and  free  inspection. 
Our  present  difficulties  and  hard  questions  will  soon  be 
solved  and  passed  by.  Even  the  world  itself,  so  difficult 
to  penetrate,  so  clouded  with  mystery,  will  become  a 
transparency  to  us,  through  which  God's  light  will  pour  as 
the  sun  through  the  open  sky.  John  knew  no  better  way 
of  describing  the  perfectly  luminous  state  of  thp  blessed 
minds  than  to  say, — and  there  shall  be  no  night  there,  and 
they  have  no  candle,  neither  light  of  the  sun ;  for  the 
Lord  God  giveth  them  light.  They  dwell  thus  in  the 
eternal  daylight  of  love  and  reason ;  for  they  are  so  let 
into  the  mind  of  God,  and  the  glorious  mysteries  of  his 
nature,  that  every  thing  is  lighted  up  as  they  come  to  it 
ST Dn  as  the  earth  and  its  objects  by  the  sun-  -The  Lord 
God  giveth  them  light. 

In  closing  the  review  of  such  a  subject  as  this,  let  ud 
first  of  all  receive  a  lesson  of  modesty,  and  particularly  such 
as  are  most  wont  to  complain  of  God,  and  boldest  in  theii 
judgments  against  him.     Which  way  soever  we  turn,  in 


LIGHT   ON  THE   CLOUD  161 

our  search  after  knowledge,  we  run  against  mystery  at  the 
second  or  third  step.  And  a  great  part  of  our  misery,  a 
still  greater  of  our  unbelief,  and  all  the  lunatic  rage  of  our 
skepticism,  arises  in  the  fact  that  we  either  do  not,  or  will  not 
see  it  to  be  so.  Ignorance  trying  to  comprehend  what  is  in- 
?cru table,  and  out  of  patience,  that  it  can  not  make  the  high 
mings  of  God  come  down  to  its  own  petty  measures,  is  the 
definition  of  all  atheism.  There  is  no  true  comfort  in  life,  no 
dignity  in  reason,  apart  from  modesty.  We  wrangle  with 
providence  and  call  it  reason,  we  rush  upon  God's  mysteries, 
and  tear  ourselves  against  the  appointments  of  his  throne, 
and  then,  because  we  bleed,  complain  that  he  cruelly  mocks 
our  understanding.  All  our  disputings  and  hard  speeches 
are  the  frothing  of  our  ignorance,  maddened  by  our  pride- 
0,  if  we  could  see  our  own  limitations,  and  how  little  it  i,s 
possible  for  us  to  know  of  matters  infinite,  how  much  less, 
clouded  by  the  necessary  blindness  of  a  mind  disordered  by 
evil,  we  should  then  be  in  a  way  to  learn,  and  the  lessons 
God  will  teach  would  put  us  in  a  way  to  know  what  now 
is  hidden  from  us.  Knowledge  puifeth  up,  charity  build 
^th  up.  One  makes  a  balloon  of  us,  the  other  a  temple. 
And  as  one,  lighter  than  the  wind,  is  driven  loose  in  its 
aerial  voyage,  to  be  frozen  in  the  airy  heights  of  specula- 
tion, or  drifted  into  the  sea  to  be  drowned  in  the  watera 
of  ignorance,  which  it  risked  without  ability  to  swim,  so 
the  other,  grounded  on  a  rock,  rises  into  solid  majesty, 
proportionate,  enduring,  and  strong.  After  all  his  labored 
disputings  and  lofty  reasons  with  his  friends,  Job  turng 
himself  to  God  and  says — I  know  that  thou  canst  do  every 
tiling,  and  that  nothing  can  be  withholden  from  thee.  Who 
is  he  that  hideth  counsel  without  knowledge.  Therefore 
have  I  uttered  that  I  understood  not;  things  too  wonderftil 

14* 


162  LIGHT   ON  THE   CLOUT), 

for  me,  that  I  knew  not.  There  is  the  tnie  point  of 
modesty  — he  has  found  it  at  last!  Whoever  finds  it  has 
made  a  great  attainment. 

How  clear  is  it  also,  in  this  subject,  that  there  is  no  placG 
for  complaint  or  repining  under  the  sorrows  and  trials  of 
life.  There  i^  nothing  in  what  has  befallen,  or  befalls  you, 
my  friends,  which  justifies  impatience  or  peevishness. 
God  is  inscrutable,  but  not  wrong.  Kemember,  if  the 
cloud  is  over  you,  that  there  is  a  bright  light  always  on 
the  other  side ;  also,  that  the  time  is  coming,  either  in  this 
world  or  the  next,  when  that  cloud  will  be  swept  away 
and  the  fallness  of  God's  light  and  wisdom  poured  around 
you.  Every  thing  which  has  befallen  you,  whatever  sor- 
row your  heart  bleeds  with,  whatever  pain  you  suffer,  even 
though  it  be  the  pains  of  a  ptission  like  that  which  Jesus 
endured  at  the  hands  of  his  enemies — nothing  is  wanting, 
but  to  see  the  light  that  actually  exists,  waiting  to  be  re- 
vealed, and  you  will  be  satisfied.  If  your  life  is  dark,  then 
walk  by  faith,  and  God  is  jDledged  to  keep  you  as  safe  aa 
if  you  could  understand  every  thing.  He  that  dwelleth 
in  the  secret  place  of  the  Most  High  shall  abide  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Almighty. 

These  things,  however,  I  can  say,  with  no  propriety,  to 
many.  IS  o  such  comforts,  or  hopes  belong  to  you  that  are 
'"ing  without  God.  You  have  nothing  to  expect  from 
the  revelations  of  the  future.  The  cloud  that  you  complain 
of  will  indeed  be  cleared  away,  and  you  will  see  that,  in 
all  your  afflictions,  severities,  and  losses,  God  was  dealing 
with  you  righteously  and  kindly.  You  will  be  satisfied 
with  God  and  with  all  that  he  has  done  for  you,  but  alas; 
you  will  not  be  satisfied  with  yourself.  That  is  moi'c  dif- 
ficult, forever  impossible  I     A^d  I  can  conceive  no  pang 


LIGHT   ON   THE   CLOUD.  162 

more  dreadful  than  to  see,  as  jou  will,  the  cloud  lifted  frorr 
every  dealing  of  God  that  you  thought  to  be  harsh,  oi 
unrighteous,  and  to  feel  that,  as  he  is  justified,  you  yoar- 
self  are  forever  condemned.  You  can  no  more  accuse 
your  birth,  your  capacity,  your  education,  your  health, 
your  friends,  your  enemies,  your  temptations.  You  still 
had  opportunities,  convictions,  calls  of  grace,  and  calls  of 
blessing.  You  are  judged  according  to  that  you  had,  and 
not  accordi]ig  to  that  you  had  not.  Your  mouth  is  eter- 
nally shut,  and  God  is  eternally  clear. 

Finally  it  accords  with  our  subject  to  observe  that,  while 
the  inscrutability  of  God  should  keep  us  in  modesty  and 
stay  our  complaints  against  him,  it  should  never  suppress, 
but  rather  sharpen  our  desire  of  knowledge.  For  the  moro 
there  is  that  is  hidden,  the  more  is  to  be  discovered  and 
known,  if  not  to-day  then  to-morrow,  if  not  to-morrow, 
when  the  time  God  sets  for  it  is  come.  To  know,  ia  not 
to  surmount  God,  as  some  would  appear  to  imagine. 
Eightly  viewed,  all  real  knowledge  is  but  the  knowledge 
of  .God.  Knowledge  is  the  fire  of  adoration,  adoration  is 
the  gate  of  knowledge.  And  when  this  gate  of  the  soul 
is  fully  opened,  as  it  will  be  when  the  adoring  grace  is 
complete  in  our  deliverance  from  all  impurity,  what  a 
revelation  of  knowledge  must  follow.  Having  now  a  de* 
Bire  of  knowledge  perfected  in  us  that  is  clear  of  all  con. 
ceit,  ambition,  haste,  impatience,  the  clouds  under  which 
we  lived  in  our  sin  are  forever  rolled  away,  and  our  ador- 
ing nature,  transparent  to  God  as  a  window  to  the  sun,  ig 
filled  with  his  eternal  light.  No  mysteries  remain  but 
such  as  comfort  us  in  the  promise  of  a  glorious  employ 
ment.  The  light  of  the  moon  is  as  the  light  of  the  sun, 
and  the  light  of  the  sun  sevenfold,  and  every  object  oi 


164  LIGHT   ON  THE   CLOUD. 

knowledge,  irradiated  by  the  brightness  of  God,  chines 
with  a  new  celestial  clearness  and  an  inconceivable  beauty 
The  resurrection  morning  is  a  true  sun-rising,  the  inburst- 
ing  of  a^  cloudless  day  on  all  the  righteous  dead.  They 
wake  transfigured,  at  their  Master's  call,  with  the  fashion 
of  their  countenance  altered  and  shining  like  his  own.. 

Creature  all  grandeur,  son  of  truth  and  light, 
Up  from  the  dust,  the  last  great  day  is  bright, — 
Bright  on  the  Holy  Mountain  round  the  throne, 
Bright  where  in  borrowed  light  the  far  stars  shone ; 
Regions  on  regions  far  away  they  shine, 
'Tis  light  ineffable  1  'tis  light  divine  1 
Immortal  light  and  life  forevermore ! 

There  was  a  cloud,  and  there  was  a  time  when  man  saw 
tiot  the  brightness  that  sinned  upon  it  from  abo\'e.  That 
cloudjs  lifted,  and  God  is  clear  in  his  own  essential  beauty 
and  glory  forever. 


IX. 

TUB  CAPACITY    OF  RELIGION   EXTIRPATED   BY   DISUSE. 

Matthew  xxv.  28. — "Take,  therefore,  the  talent  from  him.^ 

Many  persons  read  this  parable  of  tlie  talents,  I  believe, 
very  much  as  if  it  related  only  to  gifts  external  to  the 
person ;  or,  if  to  gifts  that  are  personal,  to  such  only  ns 
are  called  talents,  in  the  lower  and  merely  man- ward  rela- 
tions and  uses  of  life;  such  as  the  understanding,  reason, 
memory,  imagination,  feeling,  and  whatever  powers  are 
most  concerned  in  discovery,  management,  address,  and 
influence  over  others.  But  the  Great  Teacher's  meaning 
reaches  higher  than  this,  and  comprehends  more;  viz., 
those  talents,  more  especially,  which  go  to  exalt  the  sub- 
ject in  his  God-ward  relations.  The  main  stress  of  his 
doctrine  hinged,  I  conceive,  on  our  responsibility,  as  re- 
gards the  capacity  of  religion  itself;  for  this,  in  highest 
pre-eminence,  is  the  talent,  the  royal  gift  of  man.  The 
capacity  of  religion,  taken  as  the  highest  trust  God  gives  us, 
he  is  teaching  his  disciples  may  be  fivefolded,  tenfolded, 
indefinitely  increased,  as  all  other  gifts  are,  by  a  proper 
use ;  or  it  may  be  neglected,  hid,  suppressed,  and,  being 
thus  kept  back,  may  finally  be  so  reduced  as  to  be  eveD 
extirpated.  This  latter,  the  extirpation,  or  taking  away; 
of  the  holy  talent,  is  the  fearful  and  admonitory  close  to 
which  the  parable  is  brought  in  my  text.  In  pursuing 
the  subject  presented,  two  points  will  naturally  engage  pur 
attention. 


166  THE    CAPACITY    OF    RELIGION 

I.  That  the  capacity  for  religion  is  a  talent,  the  highest  iahru 
we  have.    And, — 

II.  That  this  capacity  is  one  that,  hy  total  disv-'it  and  the 
overgrowth  of  others,  is  filially  ccrtirpated. 

I .  Tiic  capacity  for  religion  is  a  talent,  the  highest  talent 
ivc  have. 

We  mean  by  a  talent,  the  capacity  for  doing,  or  becom- 
ing something;  as  for  learning,  speaking,  trade,  command. 
Our  talents  are  as  numerous,  therefore,  and  various  as  the 
effects  we  may  operate. 

We  have  talents  of  the  body  too,  and  talents  of  tho 
mind,  or  soul.  Our  talents  of  body  are  strength,  endur- 
ance, grace,  swiftness,  beauty,  and  the  like.  Our  mental 
or  spiritual  talents  are  more  various,  and,  for  the  purpose 
we  have  now  in  hand,  may  be  subdi\  ided  into  such  as  be- 
long, in  part,  to  the  natural  life,  and  such  as  belong  whollj' 
to  the  religious  and  spiritual. 

All  those  which  can  be  used,  or  which  come  into  play, 
in  earthly  subjects,  and  apart  from  God  and  religion,  arc 
natural,  and  those  which  relate  immediately  to  God,  and 
things  unseen,  as  connected  with  God,  are  religious.  In 
the  former  class,  we  may  name  intellect,  judgment,  reason, 
observation,  abstraction,  imagination,  memory,  feeling,  af- 
fection, will,  conscience,  and  all  the  moral  sentiments 
These  all  come  into  the  uses  and  act  a  part  in  the  activities 
of  religion,  but  they  have  uses  and  activities  in  tlimgs 
earthly,  "\A'here  religion  is  wholly  apart,  or  may  be,  and 
therefore  we  do  not  class  them  as  religious  talents.  An 
atheist  can  remember,  reason,  hate,  and  even  talk  of  duty  ; 
and  therefore  these  several  kinds  of  talent  are  not  distiniit- 
ively  religioufe. 


EXTIRPATED    BY    DISUSE.  167 

The  religious  talents  compose  the  whole  God-waid  sid« 
of  faculty  in  us.  They  are  such  especially  as  come 
into  exercise  in  the  matter  of  religious  faith  and  experience, 
and  nowhere  else.  They  include,  first,  the  want  of  God, 
which  is,  in  fact,  a  receptivity  for  God.  All  wants  are 
capacities  of  reception,  and  in  this  view  are  talents  ac- 
cording to  their  measure.  Low  grades  of  being  want  low 
objects,  but  the  want  of  man  is  God.  And,  as  all  great 
wants,  in  things  inferior,  such  as  knowledge,  honor,  power, 
belong  only  to  great  men,  what  shall  we  consider  this 
want  of  God  to  be,  but  the  highest  possible  endowment. 

Nearly  related  to  this  talent  of  want  is  the  talent  of  in- 
spiration. By  this  we  mean  a  capacity  to  be  permeated, 
illuminated,  guided,  exalted,  by  God  or  the  Spirit  of  God 
within,  and  yet  so  as  not  to  be  any  the  less  completely 
ourselves.  This  is  a  high  distinction,  a  glorious  talent. 
No  other  kind  of  being  known  to  us,  in  the  works  of  God 
whether  anim^ate  or  inanimate,  has  the  capacity  to  admit 
in  this  manner,  and  be  visited  by,  the  inspirations  of  God. 
It  requires  a  nature  gloriously  akin  to  God  in  its  mold, 
thus  to  let  in  his  action,  falling  freely  into  chime  with  hia 
freedom,  and,'  in  consciously  self-acting  power,  receiving 
the  impulsion  of  his  eternal  thought  and  character. 

We  have  also  another  religious  talent,  or  God- ward  wi- 
pacity,  which  may  be  called  the  spiritual  sense,  or  the 
power  of  divine  apprehension.  Some  kind  of  apprehen- 
sive, or  perceptive  power,  belongs  to  every  creature  of  life 
as  we  may  see  in  the  distinguishing  touch  of  the  sensitive 
plant,  in  the  keen  auditory  and  scenting  powers  of  many 
quadrupeds,  in  our  owm  five  senses,  or,  rising  still  higher, 
in  that  piercing  insight  of  mind  which  distinguishes  the 
intellectual  and  scientific  verities  of  things.     So  also  tiacre 


168  THE   CAPACITY    OF   RELIGION 

is  given  to  our  spiritual  nature,  a  still  higher  takut,  Llie 
spiritual  sense,  the  pov/er  of  distinguishing  G  )d  and  re- 
ceiving the  manifestation  or  immediate  witness  of  God.  1 
t«peak  not  here  of  a  speculating  up  to  God,  or  an  inference 
that  conducts  to  God,  but  of  a  window  that  opens  directly 
on  him  from  within,  lets  in  the  immediate  light  or  revela- 
Uju  of  God,  and  makes  the  soul  even  conscious  of  his 
reality  as  of  its  own. 

The  capacity  of  religious  love  is  another  and  distinct 
kind  of  talent.  Other  kinds  of  love  are  merely  emotional, 
or  humanly  social,  involving  no  principle  of  life,  either 
good  or  bad,  and  no  particular  spiritual  condition.  Where- 
as this  love  of  God,  and  of  men  as  related  to  God,  is  a  de- 
termining force,  in  respect  to  all  character  and  all  springs  of 
action.  We  have  it  only  as  we  have  a  certain  talent,  or 
capacity  of  leligious  love ;  the  capacity,  that  is,  to  let  in 
or  appropi'iate  the  love  of  God  to  us.  Which  if  we  do,  it 
comes,  not  as  some  rill  or  ripple  of  our  human  love,  chang- 
ing nothing  in  us,  but  it  pours  in,  as  a  tide,  with  mighty 
floods  of  joy  and  power,  and  sets  the  whole  nature  beating 
with  it,  as  the  shores  give  answer  to  the  ocean  roll  and 
roar.  Now  the  man  acts  out  of  love  and  from  it.  He 
chimes  with  all  good  freely ;  for  his  love  is  the  spirit  of  all 
good.  His  activity  is  rest,  and  a  lubricating  power  of  joy 
gladdens  all  the  works  of  duty  and  sacrifice. 

The  power  of  faith,  also,  is  a  religions  talent,  which  is 
to  religion  what  the  inductive  or  experimental  power  is  to 
science.  It  is  a  power  of  knowing  God,  or  finding  God 
by  experiment.  It  is  the  power  in  human  souls  of  falling 
on  God,  an  1  being  recumbent  on  him  in  ti'ust,  so  as  tc 
prove  him  out  and  find  the  answer  of  his  personality. 
Rcfujon  can  not  do  it,  but  faith  can.     It  knows  God,  or  may 


EXTIRPATED   BY   DISUSE.  169 

reciprocally,  and  finds  a  way  into  his  secret  will  and  mind 
no  as  to  be  of  him,  a  conscious  partaker  of  his  divine 
nature  and  life. 

These  now  are  the  talents  of  religior,  the  highest,  no- 
blest, closest  to  divinity,  of  all  the  powers  we  have.  And 
yet  how  many  never  once  think  of  them  as  having  any 
special  consequence,  or  even  as  being  talents  at  all,  just 
because,  living  in  separation  from  God,  they  are  never  once 
allowed  to  come  into  use. 

If  then  you  will  see,  in  the  plainest  manner,  what  is 
their  true  place  and  order  in  the  soul,  you  shall  find  them, 
first  of  all,  at  the  head  of  all  its  other  powers,  holding 
them  subordinate.  They  are  like  the  capital  city  of  an 
smpire,  flowing  down  upon  all  the  other  cities,  to  regulate, 
animate,  and,  at  the  same  time,  appropriate  them  all.  What 
we  sometimes  call  the  intellectual  powers, — observation, 
abstraction,  reason,  memory,  imagination, — submit  them- 
selves at  once,  when  religion  comes  into  the  field,  to  be 
the  servitors  of  religion.  None  of  these  faculties  make 
use  of  the  religious,  but  the  religious  use  and  appro- 
priate them ;  in  which  we  see,  at  a  glance,  their  natural 
inferiority. 

Next,  you  will  see  that  all  these  other  talents  fall  into  a 
stunted  and  partially  disabled  state,  when  they  are  not 
shone  upon,  kept  in  warmth,  and  raised  in  grade,  by  the 
talents  of  religion.  They  sometimes  grow  intense  in  their 
downward  activity  on  mere  things :  witness  the  scientific 
activity  of  the  French  people ;  but  this  scientific  intensity 
only  makes  the  tenuity,  the  afiectations,  the  sentimental- 
ities substituted  for  love,  the  mock  heroics  of  fame  substi- 
tuted for  the  heroics  of  faith,  the  barrenness  of  great 
thoi.ght,  the  pruriency  of  conceit,  the  more  painfully  evident 

15 


170  THE   CAPACITY   OF   RELIGION 

No  people,  emptied  of  religion,  was  ever  genuiaelv  great 
in  any  thing. 

IIow  manifestly  too  are  the  subjects  of  the  religious  tal- 
ents superior  to  those  of  the  natural — even  as  the  heaven  is 
nigh  above  the  earth.  History,  science,  political  judg- 
ments, poetry  as  a  mere  growth  of  nature,  philosophy  n? 
a  development  of  reason,  belong  to  these.  The  othert 
look  on  God,  embrace  the  infinite  in  God,  receive  the  love 
of  God,  experience  God,  let  in  the  inspirations  of  God, 
discover  worlds  beyond  the  world,  seize  the  fa(;t  of  im- 
mortality, deal  in  salvation,  aspire  to  ideal  and  divine 
perfection. 

Again,  it  will  be  seen  that  all  the  greatest  things,  ever  done 
in  the  world,  have  been  done  by  the  instigations  and  holy  ele- 
vations of  the  religious  capacity.  We  shall  never  have  done 
hearing,  I  suppose,  of  Regulus  and  Curtius,  and  such  like 
specimens  of  the  Roman  virtue,  great  in  death ;  but  the  whole 
army  of  the  martyrs,  comprising  thousands  of  women  and 
even  many  small  children,  dying  firmly  in  the  refusal  to  den}/ 
the  Lord  Jesus,  are  a  full  match  and  more,  by  the  legion, 
for  the  bravest  of  the  Romans.  What  but  the  mighty 
mastership  of  religion  has  ever  led  a  people  up  through 
civil  wars  and  revolutions,  into  a  regenerated  order  and 
liberty?  What  has  planted  colonies  for  a  great  history 
l)ut  religion  ?  The  most  august  and  most  beautiful  struc- 
tures of  the  world  have  been  temples  of  religion ;  crystal 
izations,  we  may  say,  of  worship.  The  noblest  charities, 
the  best  fruits  of  learning,  the  richest  discoveries,  the  best 
jistitutiojis  of  law  and  justice,  every  greatest  thing  tlie 
world  has  seen,  represents,  more  or  less  directly  the  fruiU 
falness  and  creativeness  of  the  religious  talents. 

The  real  summit,  therefore,  of  our  humanity  is  here,  as 


EXTIRPATED   BY   DISUSE.  171 

our  blessed  Lord  plainly  understands  in  his  parable  of  tbo 
talents.  He  does  not  overlook  other  and  inferior  gifts,  for 
God  will  certainly  hold  us  responsible  for  all  gifts ;  but  il 
is  this,  more  especially,  that  he  holds  in  view,  when  he 
says, — take  therefore  the  talent  from  him.  In  the  clause 
that  follows,  we  are  not  to  understand,  of  course,  that  Ood 
will  literally  pass  the  talent  over  to  one  who  has  been 
more  faithfuL  The  terms  are  sufficiently  met,  hy  under- 
standing that  God  will  so  dispense  the  talents,  as  to  regu 
larly  increase  the  gifts  of  the  faithful,  and  regularly  di- 
minish, or  gradually  extirpate,  the  gifts  of  those  who  will 
not  use  them.     We  proceed  then, — 

II.  To  show  that  the  religious  talent,  or  capacity,  is  one 
that,  by  total  disuse  and  the  overgrowth  of  others,  ia 
finally  extirpated. 

Few  men,  living  without  God,  are  aware  of  any  such 
possibility,  and,  still  less,  of  the  tremendous  fact  itself 
That  they  are  really  reducing  themselves  in  this  manner 
to  lower  dimensions,  shortening  in  their  souls,  making 
blank  spaces  of  all  the  highest  and  divinest  talents  of  their 
nature, — alas,  they  dream  not  of  it;  on  the  conti-ary,  they 
imagine  that  they  are  getting  above  religion,  growing  too 
competent  and  wise  to  be  longer  subjected  to  its  authority, 
or  incommoded  by  its  requirements.  They  do  not  see,  or 
Buspect  that  this  very  fact  is  evidence  itself  of  a  process 
more  radical  and  fearful,  even  that  which  Christ  himself  is 
teaching  in  the  parable.  Are  you  willing,  my  friends,  t<j 
allow  the  discovery  of  this  process,  this  dying  process, 
this  extirpating  process,  which,  in  your  neglect  of  God,  is 
removing,  by  degrees,  the  very  talent  for  religion,  your 
hiffhcst  and  most  sacred  endowment. 


l72  THE  CAPACITY   Of    RELIGION 

Bear  tlien,  first  of  all,  what  is  the  teaching  of  the  sorip. 
cure.  That  this  is  the  precise  point  of  the  parable  of  the 
talents  we  have  seeu  already.  In  close  connection,  also, 
Christ  reiterates  his  favorite  maxim, — To  him  thathath  shall 
be  given,  and  from  him  that  hath  not  shall  be  taken  away 
evon  that  which  he  hath.  And  here,  also,  the  very  point 
of  meaning  is,  that  neglected  or  abused  talents  will  be 
shortened  more  and  more  by  continued  neglect  and  abuse, 
and,  at  last,  will  be  virtually  taken  away  or  exterminated. 
What  is  said,  in  the  scripture,  of  spiritual  blindness,  or 
the  loss  of  spiritual  perception,  will  also  occur  to  you. 
For  this  people's  heart  is  waxed  gross,  says  the  Saviour, 
and  their  ears  are  dull  of  hearing,  and  their  eyes  have 
they  closed.  What  is  this  closing  of  the  eye,  this  loss  of 
sight,  but  the  judicial  extirpation  of  sight?  Even  as  he 
says  in  another  place, — He  hath  blinded  their  eyes  and 
hardened  their  heart,  that  they  should  not  see  with  thcii 
eyes,  nor  understand  with  their  heart.  Hence,  also,  what 
is  said,  derogatively,  of  the  wisdom  of  the  wise  and  the 
understanding  of  the  prudent,— that  conceit  of  opinion, 
fiilsely  called  philosophy,  which  grows  up  in  the  neglect 
of  G'>d.  The  word  of  God  looks  on  it  with  pity,  calls  it 
folly  and  strong  delusion,  as  if  it  were  a  kind  of  disability 
that  comes  on  the  soul  in  the  gradual  loss,  or  extirpation- 
of  its  highest  powers.  What  is  it  but  the  uplifting  little- 
ness of  opinion,  when  these  highest  powers  are  taken  away? 
These  babblings  of  opinion,  speculation,  reason,  are  also 
presented  in  a  more  pathologic  way,  as  a  kind  of.  cancer, 
ous  activity  in  the  lower  functions,  that  will  finally  devoui 
ail  the  higher  powers  of  godliness  and  love: — Shun  pre 
fane  and  vain  babblings,  for  they  will  increase  unto  more 
imgodlincss,  and  their  word  will  cat  as  doth  a  caiiker 


EXTIRPATED    BY    DISUSE  173 

How  sadly  ■\-erified  is  the  picture,  in  the  ever  increasing 
ungodliness  of  the  over-curious  and  merely  speculativo 
spirit;  in  the  swelling  bulk  of  its  conceit  and  the  re- 
duction correspondent] y,  of  all  highest  function  of  insight. 

Now  this  general  view  of  a  necessary  taking  away,  oi 
spiritual  extirpation,  of  which  we  are  admonished  by  the 
scriptures  under  these  various  for)ns,  is  referrible,  1  con 
ceive,  to  two  great  laws,  or  causes.  It  is  due  partly  lo  the 
neglect  of  the  higher  talents  of  our  religious  nature,  and 
partly  to  the  overactivity  or  overgrowth  of  the  other  and 
subordinate  talents. 

1.  To  the  neglect  of  the  talents,  or  capacities  of  religion. 
All  living  members,  whether  of  body  or  mind,  require 
use,  or  exercise.  It  is  necessary  to  their  development,  and, 
without  it,  they  even  die.  Thus,  if  one  of  the  arms  be 
kept  in  free  use,  from  childhood  onward,  while  the  other 
is  drawn  up  over  the  head  and  made  rigid  there,  by  long 
and  violent  detention,  a  feat  of  religious  austerity  which 
the  idolaters  of  the  East  often  practice,  the  free  arm  and 
shoulder  will  grow  to  full  size,  and  the  other  will  gradu- 
ally shrink  and  perish.  So  if  one  of  the  eyes  were  per- 
manently covered,  so  as  never  to  see  the  light,  the  other 
would  be  likely  to  grow  more  sharp  and  precise  in  its 
power,  while  this  is  losing  its  capacity  and  beccming  a 
discontinued  organ,  or  inlet  of  perception.  It  is  on  the 
Bame  principle  that  the  fishes  which  inhabit  the  under- 
ground river  of  a  great  western  cave,  while,  in  form  and 
species,  they  appear  to  correspond  with  others  that  swim 
in  the  surface  waters  of  the  region  adjacent,  have  yet  the 
remarkable  .listinction  of  possessing  no  eyes.  Since  there 
is  no  light  in  their  u/iderground  element,  the  physicjd 
organism    instinctively  changes  type.      It  will  not  even 

16* 


/74  THE   CAPACITY    CF   RELIGION 

go  OP  to  make  eyes,  when  they  can  not  be  used.  It  :hero 
fore  drops  them  out,  presenting  us  the  strange,  exceptional 
product  of  an  eyeless  race. 

So  it  is  witli  all  mental  and  spiritu  il  organs.  Not  used, 
they  gradually  wither  and  die.  The  child,  for  example, 
that  grows  up  in  utter  neglect  and  without  education,  or 
any  thing  to  develop  its  powers,  grows  dull,  at  last, 
and  brutish ;  and,  by  the  time  it  is  twenty  or  thirty  years 
old,  the  powers  it  had  appear  to  be  very  much  taken  awa3\ 
The.  man,  thus  abridged  in  faculty,  can  not  learn  to  read 
without  the  greatest  difficulty.  The  hand  can  not  be 
trained  to  grace,  or  the  eye  to  exactness.  The  very  con- 
science, disused,  as  having  any  relation  to  God,  is  blunted 
and  stupefied.  But,  while  we  note  this  visible  decay  o.' 
the  fmictions  specified,  let  it  be  observed  that,  here, 
in  the  case  of  the  child,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a 
complete  disuse.  The  most  uneducated  man  has  a  certain 
necessary  use  of  his  common  faculties  of  intelligence,  and 
in  some  low  sense,  keeps  them  in  exercise.  He  can  not 
take  care  of  his  body,  can  not  provide  for  life,  can  not 
act  his  part  among  men,  without  contrivance,  thought, 
plan,  memory,  reason,  all  the  powers  that  distinguish  him 
as  an  intelligent  being.  Hence  these  faculties  never  can 
be  wholly  exterminated  by  disuse,  however  much  reduced 
in  scope  and  qualitj'  they  may  be.  But  it  is  not  so  with 
the  religious  talents.  In  a  worldly  life  they  are  almost 
absolutely  disused.  They  are  kept  under,  suppressed,  al- 
lowed no  range,  or  play.  According  to  the  parable,  they 
are  v/rapped  up  in  a  napkin  and  hid.  Refusing  to  know 
God,  to  let  your  deep  want  receive  him,  to  admit  the  hoi} 
permeations  of  his  Spirit,  to  be  flooded  with  his  all- 
transforming  love,  to  come  into  the  secret  discerning  am} 


EXTIRPATED   BY  DISUSE.  176 

acquaintance  of  liis  mind,  and  live  in  the  mutuality  of  his 
personal  fellowship,  you  command  all  these  higher  talenta 
of  your  soul  to  exist  in  disuse.  This  is  the  fearful,  horrible 
tiling  in  your  life  of  sin,  that  you  sentence  all  your  God- 
ward  powers  to  a  state  of  utter  nothingness,  to  be  ears  that 
must  not  hear,  eyes  that  must  not  see.  And  then,  what  must 
finally  follow,  but  that  they  can  not?  How  is  it  possible 
foi  any  talent  or  gift  to  survive  that  can  not  be  exercised? 
And  this  process  of  extirpation  will  be  hastened,  again,— 

2.  By  the  operation  of  that  immense  overgrowth  or 
overactivity  whicb  is  kept  up  in  the  other  powers.  Thus 
it  is  that  gardeners,  when  a  tree  is  making  wood  too  fast, 
understand  that  it  will  make  no  fruit;  all  the  juices  and 
tuitritive  fluids  being  carried  off  in  the  other  direction,  to 
make  wood.  And  therefore,  to  hasten  the  growth  of  fruit, 
they  head  in  the  branches.  So  when  trees  are  growing 
rapidly  upward,  as  in  a  forest,  that  growth  calls  away  the 
juices  from  the  lower  and  lateral  branches  and  leaves  them 
to  die.  A  healthy  limb  of  our  body,  being  checked  by 
some  disease,  the  other  limbs  or  members  call  off  the  nu- 
triment in  their  direction ;  when  it  begins  to  wither,  and, 
at  last,  is  virtually  extirpated. 

Just  so  it  is,  when  a  child  becomes  preternaturally  active 
in  some  particular  faculty,  under  the  stimulus  of  success 
or  much  applause ;  it  turns  out  finally  that  the  wonderful 
activity  that  made  him  a  prodigj'  in  figures,  or  in  memory, 
unless  early  arrested,  has  sunk  him  to  a  rank  as  much  be- 
low mediocrity  in  every  thing  else.  His  overgrovrth  in 
arithmetic,  or  in  the  memorizing  powers,  takes  away  the 
nutriment  of  all  his  other  functions,  and  leaves  him  to  &, 
Diiserable  inferiority. 

Just  so  it  is,  again,  when  the  pursuit  of  money  grows 


176  THE   CAPACITY   OF   RELIGION 

to  a  monster  passion  of  the  soul;  the  mind  dwindles,  th<! 
affections  wither,  and  sometimes  even  the  nerve  of  hun- 
ger itself  oeases  to  act ;  leaving  the  wretched  miser  to  pen 
ish  by  starvation,  fast  by  his  heap  of  gold.  So  if  a  man 
lives  for  the  table  the  organs  of  the  mouth  and  chin  chanw 
'heir  expression,  the  eye  grows  dull,  the  gait  heavy,  the 
voice  takes  a  coarse  animalized  sound,  and  the  higher 
qualities  of  intelligence,  he  may  once  have  manifested,  will 
be  manifested  nowhere,  save  as  purveyors  to  the  organs  of 
taste  and  the  gastric  energy. 

In  the  same  way,  a  man  who  is  brought  up  in  mere 
conventionalities  and  taught  to  regard  appearances  as  the 
only  realities,  loses  out  the  sense  of  truth.  He  blushes 
at  the  least  defect  in  his  toilette,  and  lies  to  get  away  from 
an  honest  debt,  without  any  trace  of  compunction,  or 
shame  for  his  baseness. 

And  so  also  the  child,  brought  up  as  a  thief,  gets  an  in- 
finite power  of  cunning  and  adroitness,  and  loses  out  jusi 
as  much  in  the  power  of  true  perception. 

In  the  same  way,  a  race  of  men  long  occupied  in  fero- 
cious wars  grow  sharp  in  the  hearing,  keen  as  the  beasts 
)f  prey  in  pursuit,  sensitively  shy  of  death,  when  it  can 
De  avoided,  and  when  it  can  not,  equally  stoical  in  regard 
to  it ;  but,  while  these  talents  of  blood  are  unfolding  so 
njmarkably,  they  lose  out  utterly  the  sense  of  order,  the 
Instinct  of  prudence  and  providence,  ail  the  sweei  charities, 
nil  the  finer  powers  of  thought,  and  become  a  savage  race, 
llaving  lost  a  full  half  of  their  nature  and  sunk  below 
the  possibility  of  progress,  we,  for  that  reason,  call  them 
savages. 

By  a  little  different  process,  the  Christian  monks  were 
lurncd  to  fiends  of  blood,  without  being  sa/agcs,     Exe; 


EXTIRPATED   BY   DISUSE.  l/< 

ciaed,  day  and  night,  in  a  devotion  that  was  aired  by  nc 
outward,  social  duties,  waiting  only  on  the  dreams  and 
visions  of  a  cloistered  religion,  all  the  gentle  humanities 
and  social  charities  were  absorbed  or  taken  away.  And 
then  their  very  prayers  would  draw  blood,  and  thev  would 
go  out  from  the  real  presence  itself,  to  bless  the  Knife,  oi 
kindle  the  fire. 

Now  just  this  extirpating  process,  which  vou  havo  seen 
operating  here  on  so  large  a  scale,  is  going  on  contiiiually 
in  the  overactive  worldliness  of  all  men  that  are  living 
without  God.  An  extravagant  activity  of  some  kind  is 
always  stimulating  their  inferior  and  merely  natural  facul- 
ties, and  extirpating  the  higher  talents  of  religion.  Occu- 
pied with  schemes  that  are  only  world- ward  and  selfish, 
there  is  an  egregiously  intense  activity  in  that  direction, 
coupled  with  entire  inaction  in  all  the  highest  perccptiona 
and  noblest  afiinities  of  their  godlike  nature.  To  say  that 
these  latter  will  be  finally  taken  away,  or  extirpated  in 
this  manner  is  to  say  nothing  which  permits  a  doubt.  It 
can  not  be  otherwise.  All  the  laws  of  vital  being,  whether 
in  body  or  mind,  must  be  overturned  to  allow  it  to  be 
otherwise.  No  man  can  live  out  a  life  of  sin  without 
also  living  out  all  the  God-ward  talent  of  his  soul. 

Let  me  come  a  degree  nearer  to  you  now,  and  lay  the 
question  side  by  side  with  your  experience.  Is  it  wrong 
to  assume  that  your  religious  sense  was  proportionately 
much  stronger  and  more  active  in  childhood  than  it  is  now  ? 
Thus  onward,  during  your  minority,  you  felt  the  reality 
of  God  and  things  unseen,  as  you  can  not  now,  by  youi 
utmost  effort  It  is  as  if  these  worlds  beyond  the  worlij 
had  faded  away,  or  quite  gone  out.  You  have  a  great 
'leal  more  knowledsre  than  vou  then  had, — kjKiwJedp'e  or 


178  THE   CAPACITY    OF    RELIGION 

books,  men,  business,  scenes,  subjects,  a  more  practicet] 
judgment,  a  greater  force  of  argument;  but  it  troubles 
you  to  find  that  these  higher  things  are  just  as  much  fur- 
ther off  and  less  real.  It  even  surprises  you  to  find  that 
you  are  growing  skeptical,  without  any,  the  least,  effort  Ic 
be  so.  Perhaps  you  begin,  at  times,  to  imagine  that  it 
mjst  be  only  because  of  some  fatal  weakness  in  the  evi- 
dences of  religion.  Why  else  should  it  lose  its  power 
over  3^our  mind,  as  you  grow  more  intelligent?  There  is 
one  very  simple  answer,  my  friends,  to  this  inquiry,  viz., 
that  eyes  disused  gradually  lose  the  power  to  see.  If  God 
gave  you  a  religious  talent,  whereby  to  ally  you  to  him 
self,  an  eye  to  see  him  and  catch  the  light  of  unseen  worlds, 
a  want  to  long  after  him,  and  you  have  never  used  thisi 
higher  nature  at  all,  what  wonder  is  it  that  it  begins  to 
wither  and  do  its  functions  feebly,  as  a  perishing  member  ? 
[f  your  bodily  eyes  had,  for  so  long  a  time,  been  covered 
and  forbidden  once  to  see,  what  less  could  have  befallen 
them?  Your  very  hand,  held  fast  to  your  side  for  only 
half  the  time,  would  be  a  perished  member.  And  what 
does  it  signify  that  your  other  faculties,  or  talents,  have 
been  growing  in  strength  so  plausibly  ?  What  could  be 
the  result  of  this  selfish  and  world- ward  activity,  but  a  pro- 
digious drawing  off  of  personal  life  and  energy  in  that  di- 
rection ?  Hence  it  is  that  you  grow  blind  to  God.  Hence 
that,  when  you  undertake  to  live  a  different  life,  you  get  on 
so  poorly  and  your  very  prayers  fly  away  into  nothingr:es,s, 
Snding  only  emptiness  to  embrace,  and  darkness  to  see. 

All  this,  my  friends,  which  I  gather  out  of  your  own 
experience,  is  but  a  version  practical  of  Christ's  own  words 
— take  therefore  the  talent  from  him.  It  is  being  taken 
away  rapidly,  and  the  shreds  of  it  will  very  soon  b«  all 


EXTIRPATED     BY     DISUSE.  179 

fehat  is  left.  Your  religious  nature  will  Anally  becomo  s 
virtually  exterminated  organ.  Neither  let  it  be  imagiaed 
that,  meaning  no  such  thing,  but  really  intending,  at  some 
future  time,  to  turn  yourself  to  God,  no  such  thing  wiU 
be  allowed  to  befall  you.  It  is  befalling  you  and  that  i*? 
pnough  to  spoil  you  of  any  such  confidence.  Besides,  it 
was  not  shown  in  the  parable  that  the  servant  who  disused 
his  talent  threw  it  away.  He  carefully  wrapped  it  up,  and 
meant  to  keep  it  safe.  But  it  was  not  safe  to  him.  Hif 
lord  took  it  away,  and  the  same  thing  is  now  befalling  you. 
The  purpose  you  have,  at  some  future  time,  to  use  your 
talent  avails  nothing.  It  is  going  from  you  and,  before 
you  know  it,  will  be  utterly,  irrecoverably  gone. 

The  thoughts  that  crowd  upon  us,  standing  before  a 
subject  like  this,  are  practical  and  serious.     And, — 

1.  How  manifestly  hideous  the  process  going  on  in 
buman  souls,  under  the  power  of  sin.  It  is  a  process  of 
real  and  fixed  deformity.  Who  of  us  has  not  seen  it  even 
with  his  eyes?  The  most  beautiful  natural  character,  in 
man  or  v,^oman,  changes,  how  certainly,  its  type,  when 
growing  old  in  worldliness  and  the  neglect  of  religion. 
The  grace  perishes,  the  beautiful  feeling  dries  away,  the 
angles  grow  hard,  the  sociality  grows  cold  and  formal,  the 
temper  irritable  and  peevish,  and  the  look  wears  a  kind 
of  half  expression,  as  if  something  once  in  it  were  gone 
out  forever.  It  should  be  so,  and  so,  in  awful  deed)  it  is ; 
for  a  whole  side  of  the  nature,  most  noble  and  closest  in 
affinity  with  God,  has  been  taken  away.  On  the  otheT 
hand,  it  will  be  seen  that  a  thoroughly  religious  old  person 
holds  the  proportions  of  life,  and  even  grows  more  mello-w 
and  attractive  as  life  advances.     Indeed,  the  uK'st  beautiful 


180  THE  Capacity   of  religion 

sight  on  earth  is  an  aged  saint  of  God,  growing  cheerful 
in  his  faith  as  Hfe  advances,  becoming  mellowed  in  his  love, 
and  more  and  more  visibly  pervaded  and  brightened  by 
the  clear  light  of  religion. 

This  deforming  process  tools  a  halving  process,  with  all 
that  are  in  it.  It  exterminates  the  noblest  side  of  fatiulty 
in  them  and  all  the  most  affluent  springs  of  their  greatness 
it  forever  dries  away.  It  murders  the  angel  in  us,  and 
saves  the  drudge  or  the  worm.  The  man  that  is  left  is  but 
a.  partial  being,  a  worker,  a  schemer,  a  creature  of  passion, 
thought,  will,  hunger,  remorse,  but  no  divine  principle,  no 
kinsman  of  Christ,  or  of  God.  And  this  is  the  fearful 
takmg  away  of  which  our  blessed  Lord  admonishes;  a 
taking  away  of  the  gems  and  leaving  the  casket,  a  taking 
away  of  the  great  and  leaving  the  little,  a  taking  a^'i  ay 
of  the  godlike  and  celestial  and  a  leaving  of  the  sinner''n 
his  sin. 

2.  It  follows,  in  the  same  manner,  that  there  is  no  genu 
ine  culture,  no  proper  education,  which  does  not  include 
religion.  Much,  indeed,  of  what  is  called  education  is 
only  a  power  of  deformity,  a  stimulus  of  overgrowth  iii 
the  lower  functions  of  the  spirit,  as  a  creature  of  intelli- 
gence, which  overlooks  and  leaves  to  wither,  causes  to 
wither,  all  the  metropolitan  powers  of  a  great  mind  and 
character.  The  first  light  of  mind  is  God,  the  only  genu- 
ine heat  is  religion,  imaginative  insight  is  kindled  only  by 
the  fervors  of  holy  truth,  all  noblest  breadth  and  volume 
are  unfolded  in  the  regal  amplitude  of  God's  eternity  and 
kingdom,  all  grandest  energy  and  force  in  the  impulsions 
of  duty  and  the  inspirations  of  faith.  All  training,  sepa- 
rated from  these,  operates  even  a  shortening  of  faculty,  as? 
truly  as  an  increase.     It  is  a  kind  of  gymnastic  for  the 


EXTIRPATED    BY    DISUSE  18i 

ami  that  jxiralj^zcs  the  spine.  It  dimhiishes  the  quiintitv 
of  the  subject,  where  all  sovereign  quantity  begins,  and 
increases  it  only  in  some  lower  point,  where  it  ends ;  as  if 
building  the  trunk  of  a  lighthouse  staunch  and  tall  were 
enough,  without  preparing  any  light  and  revolving  clock- 
work for  the  top.  Hence  it  is  that  so  many  scholars,  most 
bont  down  upon  their  tasks,  and  digging  most  intently  into 
the  supposed  excellence,  turn  out,  after  all,  to  be  so  miser- 
ably diminished  in  all  that  constitutes  power.  Hence  also 
that  men  of  taste  are  so  often  attenuated  by  their  refine- 
ments, and  dwarfed  b}'"  the  overgrown  accuracy  and  polish 
of  their  attainments.  No  man  is  ever  educated,  in  due 
form,  save  as  being  a  man  ;  tliat  is,  a  creature  related  to  God, 
and  having  all  his  highest  summits  of  capacity  unfolded 
by  the  great  thoughts,  and  greater  sentiments,  and  nobler 
inspirations  of  religion. 

3.  Let  no  one  comfort  himself  in  the  intense  activity  ot 
his  mind  on  the  subject  of  religion.  That  is  one  of  the 
things  to  be  dreaded.  To  be  always  thinking,  debating, 
8v^,heming,  in  reference  to  the  great  questions  of  religion, 
without  using  any  of  the  talents  that  belong  more  appro- 
priately to  God  and  the  receiving  of  God,  is  just  the  way 
to  extirpate  the  talents  most  rapidly,  and  so  to  close  up 
the  mind  in  spiritual  darkness.  And  no  man  is  more 
certainly  dark  to  God  than  one  who  is  always  at  work  upon 
his  mystery,  by  the  mere  understanding.  To  be  curious, 
to  sj?eculate  much,  to  be  dinning  always  in  argument, 
battle  dooring  always  in  opinions  and  dogmas,  whether  oa 
the  free  side  of  rationalistic  audacity,  or  the  stiff  side  of 
catechetic  orthodoxy,  makes  little  diiference;  all  such 
activity  is  cancerous  and  destructive  to  the  real  talents  of 
religion.      What  you  do  with  the  understanding  nevej 

IG 


182  THE    CAPACITY    OF    RELIGION 

reaohea  God.  He  is  known  only  by  them  that  receive 
him  into  their  love,  their  faith,  their  deep  want;  known 
only  as  he  is  enshrined  within,  felt  as  a  divine  force, 
brea.thed  in  the  inspirations  of  his  secret  life.  The  geome- 
ter might  as  well  expect  to  solve  his  problems  by  the 
function  of  smell,  as  a  responsible  soul  to  find  God  by  the 
understanding.  How  little  does  it  signify  then  that  you 
are  always  thoughtful  on  religious  subjects?  That,  by 
itself,  will  only  be  your  ruin. 

4.  Make  as  little  of  the  hope  that  the  Holy  Spirit  will 
sometime  open  your  closed  or  consciously  closing,  faculties. 
It  requires  a  talent,  so  to  speak,  for  the  Holy  Spirit,  to 
entertain  or  receive  him.  A  rock  can  not  receive  the 
Holy  Spirit.  No  more  can  a  mind  that  has  lost,  or  extin- 
guished, the  talent  for  inspiration.  The  Holy  Spirit,  glori- 
ous and  joyful  truth,  does  find  a  way  into  souls  that  are 
steeped  in  spiritual  lethargy,  does  beget  anew  the  sense  of 
lioly  things  that  appeared  to  be  faded  almost  away.  But, 
when  the  very  faculty  that  makes  his  working  possible  is 
quite  closed  up,  or  so  nearlv  closed  that  no  living  recep- 
tivity is  left  for  him  to  work  in,  when  the  so\il  has  no  fit 
room,  or  function,  to  receive  his  inspiring  motions,  more 
than  a  tree,  half  dead,  to  receive  the  quickening  sap  of  the 
spring,  or  an  ossified  heart  to  let  the  life-power  play  its 
jiction,  then,  manifestly,  nothing  is  to  be  hoped  for  longer 
from  his  quickening  visitations.  The  soul  was  original.y 
made  to  be  dwelt  in,  actuated,  filled  with  God,  but  finally 
this  high  talent  is  virtually  extirpated ;  when,  of  course, 
there  is  nothing  to  hope  for  longer.  It  may  Tjot  be  so  with 
you,  and  it  also  may. 

5.  The  truth  we  are  here  bringing  into  view  wears  nc 
look  of  promise,  in  regard  to  the  future  conditioD  of  ba(? 


EXTIRPATED    BY    DICJSE.  183 

men.  If  we  talk  of  their  final  restoration,  "what  is  going 
to  restore  them,  when  the  very  thing  we  see  in  them,  hercv 
is  the  gradual  extinction  of  their  capabilities  of  religion  i 
Their  want  of  God  itself  dies  out,  and  they  have  no  God' 
ward  aspirations  left.  The  talent  of  inspiration,  of  spirit- 
ual perception,  of  love,  of  fiiith,  every  mlet  of  their  nature 
that  was  open  to  God,  is  closed  and  virtually  extii'pated, 
This  is  no  figure  of  speech,  that  merely  signifies  theii 
habitual  obscuration,  it  is  fact.  By  what  then  are  they 
going  to  be  restored?  Will  God  take  them  up,  as  they 
enter  into  the  future  life,  and  re-create  their  extirpated  facul- 
ties of  religion  ?  Will  the  pains  of  hell  burn  a  religion 
into  their  lower  ficulties,  and  so  restore  them  ? 

But  there  is  another  hope,  viz.,  that  bad  men  will  finally 
be  themselves  extirpated  and  cease ;  that  the  life  of  sin 
will  finally  burn  them  quite  out,  or  cause  them  literally 
and  totally  to  perish.  But  the  difficulty  here  is  that  no 
such  tendency  is  visible.  It  is  only  seen  that  the  talent 
for  religion,  which  is  the  higher  and  diviner  side  of  the 
Boul,  is  extirpated.  The  other  parts  are  kept  in  some  kind 
of  activity,  and  are  sometimes  even  overgrown,  by  the 
'itimulations  of  worldly,  or  vicious  impulse.  If  we  some- 
times look  on  a  poor,  imbruted  mortal, — -one  who  walks, 
looks,  speaks,  not  as  a  proper  man  but  as  the  vestigea 
only  of  a  man, — asking  in  ourselves  what  is  there  left 
that  is  worth  salvation? — as  if  there  were  nothing; — 
stiil  he  lives  and,  what  is  more,  some  of  his  quanti- 
ties, viz.,  his  passions  and  appetites  and  all  his  lowest  aflini- 
tics  are  even  increased.  His  thoughts  too  run  as  rapid- 
ly as  they  ever  did,  only  they  run  low ;  his  imaginations 
live,  only  they  live  in  the  stye  of  his  passions.  It  is  not, 
then,  annihilation  that  we  see  in  him.     Nothing  is  realfy 


184  THE    CAPACITY    OF    RELIGION 

aiTJliilated  but  the  celestial  possibilities.  And  so  it  is  witl 
eveij  soal  that  refuses  God  and  religion,  A  living  crea 
ture  remains, — a  mind,  a  meniorj^,  a  heart  of  pasj;ion,  fears 
irritability,  will, — all  these  remain ;  nothing  is  gone  bul 
the  angel  life  that  stood  with  them,  and  bound  them  aJ  tc 
God.  What  remains,  remains ;  and,  for  aught  that  we  can 
see,  must  remain ;  and  there  is  the  fatal,  inevitable  fact. 
now  hopeless!  God  forbid  that  any  of  us  may  ever 
know  what  it  means ! 

Finally,  how  clear  it  is  that  the  earliest  time  in  religion 
is  the  best  time.  If  there  be  any  of  my  hearers  that  have 
lived  many  years,  and  have  consciously  not  begun  to  live 
unto  God,  they  have  much  to  think  of  in  a  subject  like 
this.  How  well  do  they  know  that  God  is  further  ofi'  than 
he  was,  and  their  spiritual  apprehensions  less  distind. 
They  have  felt  the  sentence — take  therefore  the  talent  from 
him — passing  upon  them  in  its  power,  for  many  years 
And  how  much  further  will  you  go  in  this  neglect  of  God, 
before  the  extirpation  begun  is  fatally  complete.  My 
friends,  there  is  not  an  hour  to  lose.  Only  with  the  great- 
est difficulty  will  you  be  able,  now,  to  gather  up  yourself 
and  open  youi  closing  gates  to  the  entrance  of  God  and  hia 
salvation. 

Here  too  is  the  peculiar  blessing  and  the  hopeful  advant- 
age of  youth.  The  talents  which  older  men  lose  out,  by 
their  worldly  practice  and  neglect  of  God,  are  fresh  in  them 
and  free.  Hence  their  common  readiness  to  apprehend 
God  and  the  things  of  religion.  It  is  not  because  they  are 
green,  or  unripe,  as  many  think,  but  because  they  have  a 
side  of  talent  not  yet  eaten  out  by  sinful  practice ;  because 
God  is  mirrored  so  clearly  in  the  depths  of  their  nature, 
and  breathed  so  freely  into  the  recesses  of  their  open  life. 


EXTIRPATED    BY    DISUSE,  18£ 

Hence  their  ready  sensibility,  their  quick  perception,  theii 
abihty  to  feel  out,  in  experiment,  what  reason  can  no< 
master, — God,  Christ,  the  inspiring  grace,  the  heavenly 
peace,  eternal  life.  Hence,  also,  the  fact  that  so  great  a 
share  of  those  who  believe,  embrace  Christ  in  their  youth 
A nd  this,  my  young  friends,  is  the  day  therefore  of  privi 
lege  to  you.  O  that  you  could  see  the  bright  eminence  of 
your  condition.  The  holy  talent  now  is  yours.  In  a  few 
selfish  years  it  will  be  shortening,  and,  before  you  know 
it,  will  be  quite  taken  away.  This  best,  highest,  most 
glorious  talent  of  your  nature  God  is  now  calling  you  to 
save.  Make,  then,  no  delay  in  this  first  matter  of  life,  the 
choice  of  God.  Give  him  up  thy  talent,  whole  and  fresh, 
to  be  increased  by  early  devotion  and  a  life-long  fidelity 
in  his  service.  Call  it  the  dew  of  thy  youth,  understand- 
ing well  that,  whtn  thy  sun  is  fairly  up,  it  will,  like  deWj 
be  gone. 


UKCONSOIOUS   INFLUENCE. 
John  x5   8. — "  Then  vjent  in  also  that  other  disciple.^ 

In  this  slight  touch  or  turn  of  hi&tor}^,  is  opened  to  iiB^ 
U  we  scan  it  closely,  one  of  the  most  serious  and  fruitful 
chapters  of  Christian  doctrine.  Thus  it  is  that  men  ar<i 
ever  touching  unconsciously  the  springs  of  motion  in  each 
ether;  thus  it  is  that  one  man,  without  thought  or  inten« 
tion,  or  even  a  consciousness  of  the  fact,  is  ever  leading 
,^ome  other  after  him.  Little  does  Peter  think,  as  he  comes 
Q\>  7/-here  his  doubting  brother  is  looking  into  the  sepulchre, 
bind  goes  straight  in,  after  his  peculiar  manner,  that  he  la 
drawing  in  his  brother  apostle  after  him.  As  little  does 
John  think,  when  he  loses  his  misgivings,  and  goes  into 
the  sepulchre  after  Peter,  that  he  is  following  his  brother. 
And  just  so,  unawares  to  himself,  is  every  man,  the  whole 
race  through,  laying  hold  of  his  fellow-man,  to  lead  him 
where  otherwise  he  would  not  go.  We  overrun  the  bound- 
aries of  our  pei'sonality — we  flow  together.  A  Peter  leads 
a  J(^hn,  a  John  goes  after  a  Peter,  both  of  them  uncon- 
scious of  any  influence  exerted  or  received.  And  thus 
our  life  and  cond\ict  are  ever  propagating  themselves,  by 
a  law  of  social  contagion,  throughout  the  circles  and  times 
m  which  we  live. 

There  are,  then,  you  will  perceive,  two  sorts  of  influence 
belonging  to  man;  that  which  is  active  or  voluntary,  and 
that  which  is  unconscious ; — that  which  we  exert  purposely 


CK-CO]SSCIOUS    JNFLUENCE.  187 

or  in  tlie  endeavor  to  sway  another,  as  by  teacning,  by 
argument,  by  persuasion,  by  threatcnings,  by  offers  and 
[)romi3es, — and  that  which  flows  out  from  us,  unawares  to 
ourselves,  the  same  which  Peter  had  over  John  when  he 
led  him  into  the  sepulchre.  The  imj^ortance  of  our  efforts 
to  do  good,  that  is  of  our  voluntary  influence,  and  the 
sacred  obligation  we  are  under  to  exert  ourselves  in  this 
way,  ar^  often  and  seriously  insisted  on.  It  is  thus  that 
Christianity  has  become,  in  the  present  age,  a  principle  of 
so  much  greater  activity  than  it  has  been  for  many  centu- 
ries before ;  and  we  fervently  hope  that  it  will  yet  become 
far  more  active  than  it  now  is,  nor  cease  to  multiply  its 
.industry,  till  it  is  seen  by  all  mankind  to  embody  the 
beneficence  and  the  living  energy  of  Christ  himself. 

But  there  needs  to  be  produced,  at  the  same  time,  and 
partly  for  this  object,  a  more  thorough  appreciation  of  the 
relative  importance  of  that  kind  of  influence,  or  beneficence 
which  is  insensibly  exerted.  The  tremendous  weight  and 
efficacy  of  this,  compared  with  the  other,  and  the  sacred 
resrponsibility  laid  apon  us  in  regard  to  this,  are  felt  in  no 
such  degree  or  proportion  as  they  should  be ;  and  the  con- 
sequent loss  we  suffer  in  character,  as  well  as  that  which 
the  Church  suffers  in  beauty  and  strength,  is  incalculable. 
The  more  stress,  too,  needs  to  be  laid  on  this  subject  of 
insensible  influence,  because  it  is  insensible ;  because  it  i« 
out  of  mind,  and,  when  we  seek  to  trace  it,  beyond  a  fuJl 
discovery. 

If  the  doubt  occur  to  any  of  you,  in  the  announcement 
of  this  subject,  whether  we  are  properly  responsible  for  ah 
influence  which  we  exert  insensibly ;  we  are  not,  I  reply, 
except  so  far  as  this  influence  flows  directly  from  oui 
character  and  conduct.      And   this   it   does,  even  much 


188  UNCONSCIOUS    INFLUENCE. 

more  uniformly  than  our  active  influence.  In  the  laitei 
we  may  fail  of  our  end  by  a  want  of  wisdom  or  skill 
in  which  case  we  are  still  as  meritorious,  in  God's  sight, 
as  if  we  succeeded.  So,  again,  we  may  really  su<iceed, 
and  do  great  good  by  our  active  endeavors,  from  mo- 
tives altogether  base  and  hypocritical,  in  which  case  w«j 
are  as  evil,  in  God's  sight,  as  if  we  had  failed.  But  the 
influences  we  exert  unconsciously  will  almost  never  disa- 
gree with  our  real  character.  They  are  honest  influences, 
following  our  character,  as  the  shadow  follows  the  sun 
And,  therefore,  we  are  much  more  certainly  responsible 
for  them,  and  their  effects  on  the  world.  They  go  stream- 
ing from  us  in  all  directions,  though  in  channels  that  we 
do  not  see,  poisoning  or  healing  around  the  roots  of  society, 
and  among  the  hidden  wells  of  character.  If  good  our- 
selves, they  are  good ;  if  bad,  they  are  bad.  And,  since 
they  reflect  so  exactly  our  character,  it  is  impossible  to 
doubt  our  responsibility  for  their  efffects  on  the  world.  We 
must  answer  not  only  for  what  we  do  with  a  puipose,  but 
for  the  influence  we  exert  insensibly.  To  give  you  any 
just  impressions  of  the  breadth  and  seriousness  of  such  a 
reckoning  I  know  to  be  impossible.  No  mind  can  trace 
it.  But  it  will  be  something  gained  if  I  am  able  to  awaken 
only  a  suspicion  of  the  vast  extent  and  power  of  tbose 
influences,  which  are  ever  flowing  out  unbidden  upon 
society,  from  j'^our  life  and  character. 

In  the  prosecution  of  my  design,  let  me  ask  of  you, 
first  of  a,n,  to  expel  the  common  prejudice  that  there  can 
be  nothing  of  consequence  in  unconscious  influences, 
because  they  make  no  report,  and  fall  on  the  world  unob 
nerved.  Histoi  ics  and  biographies  make  little  account  of 
the  power  men  exert  insensibly  over  each  other.     Thej 


UNCONSCIOUS    INFLUENCE.  18J^ 

tell  how  men  have  led  armies,  established  empires,  enacte«l 
laws,  gained  causes,  sung,  reasoned,  and  taught ; — always 
occupied  in  setting  forth  what  they  do  with  a  purpose 
But  what  they  do  without  a  purpose,  the  streams  of  hiflu- 
ence  that  flow  out  from  their  persons  unbidden  on  the 
world,  they  can  not  trace  or  compute,  and  seldom  even 
mention.  So  also  the  public  laws  make  men  responsible 
only  for  what  they  do  with  a  positive  purpose,  and  take 
no  account  of  the  mischiefs  or  benefits  that  are  communi- 
cated, by  their  noxious  or  healthful  example.  The  same 
is  true  in  the  discipline  of  families,  churches,  and  schools; 
they  make  no  account  of  the  things  we  do,  except  we  will 
them.  What  we  do  insensibly  passes  for  nothing,  because 
no  human  government  can  trace  such  influences  with  suf- 
ficient certainty  to  make  their  authors  responsible. 

But  you  must  not  conclude  that  influences  of  this  kmd 
are  insignificant,  because  they  are  unnoticed  and  noiseless. 
How  is  it  in  the  natural  world  ?  Behind  the  mere  show, 
the  outward  noise  and  stir  of  the  world,  nature  always  con- 
ceals her  hand  of  control,  and  the  laws  by  which  she  rules. 
Who  ever  saw  with  the  eye,  for  example,  or  heard  with 
the  ear,  the  exertions  of  that  tremendous  astronomic  force, 
which  every  moment  holds  the  compact  of  the  physical 
universe  together  ?  The  lightning  is,  in  fact,  but  a  mere 
fire-fl}''  spark  in  comparison ;  but,  because  it  glares  on  the 
clouds,  and  thunders  so  terribly  in  the  ear,  and  rives  the 
tree  or  the  lock  where  it  falls,  many  will  be  ready  to  think 
that  it  is  a  vastly  more  potent  agent  than  gravity. 

The  Bible  calls  the  good  man's  life  a  light,  and  it  is  the 
nature  oi  light  to  flow  out  spontaneously  in  all  directions, 
and  fill  the  world  unconsciously  with  its  beams.  So  the 
Christian  shines,  it  would  say,  not  so  much  bec;iusc  he 


190  UNCONSCIOUS    INFLUENCE. 

will,  as  because  he  is  a  luminous  object.  Not  tLat  the 
active  influence  of  Christians  is  made  of  no  account  in  iha 
figure,  but  only  that  this  symbol  of  light  has  its  propriety 
in  the  fact  that  their  unconscious  influence  is  the  chief  in- 
fluence, and  has  the  precedence  in  its  power  over  the  world. 
And  yet,  there  are  manj  who  will  be  ready  to  think  that 
light  is  a  very  tame  and  feeble  instrument,  because  it  is 
noiseless.  An  earthquake,  for  example,  is  to  them  a  much 
more  vigorous  and  effective  agency.  Hear  how  it  cornea 
thundering  through  the  solid  foundations  of  nature.  It 
rocks  a  whole  continent.  The  noblest  works  of  man, — 
cities,  monuments,  and  temples, — are  in  a  moment  leveled 
to  the  ground,  or  swallowed  down  the  opening  gulfs  of  fire. 
Little  do  they  think  that  the  light  of  every  morning,  the 
soft,  and  genial,  and  silent  light,  is  an  agent  man}'  times 
more  powerful.  But  let  the  light  of  the  morning  cease 
and  return  no  more,  let  the  hour  of  morning  come,  and 
bring  with  it  no  dawn :  the  outcries  of  a  horror-stricken 
world  fill  the  air,  and  make,  as  it  were,  the  darkness  audi- 
ble. The  beasts  go  wnld  and  frantic  at  the  loss  of  the  sun. 
The  vegetable  growths  tuni  pale  and  die,  A  chill  crcepa 
on,  and  frosty  winds  begin  to  howl  across  the  freezing 
earth.  Colder,  and  3^et  colder,  is  the  night.  The  vital 
blood,  at  length,  of  all  creatures,  stops  congealed.  Dowj 
goes  the  frost  toward  the  earth's  center.  The  heart  of  tl  e 
sea  is  frozen  ;  nay,  the  earthquakes  are  themselves  frozen 
in,  under  their  fiery  caverns.  The  very  globe  itself,  too, 
and  all  the  fellow  planets  that  have  lost  their  sun,  are  bo 
come  mere  balls  of  ice,  swinging  silent  in  the  darkness 
Snch  is  the  light,  which  revisits  us  in  the  silence  of  the, 
morning.  It  makes  no  shock  or  scar,  It  would  not  wako 
nn  infant  in  his  cradle.    And  yet  it  perpetually  new  cieatei 


UNCONSCIOUS    INFLUENCE  101 

the  world,  rescuing  it,  each  morning  as  a  prey,  from  night 
and  chaos.  So  the  Christian  is  a  light,  even  "  the  light  of 
the  world,"  an'l  we  must  not  think  that,  because  he  shim's 
insensibly  or  silently,  as  a  mere  luminous  object,  he  if' 
therefore  powerless.  The  greatest  powers  are  ever  those 
which  lie  back  of  the  little  stirs  and  commotions  of  nature; 
and  I  verily  believe  that  the  insensible  influences  of  good 
mea  are  as  much  more  potent  than  what  I  have  called  their 
voluntary  or  active,  as  the  great  silent  powers  of  nature 
are  of  greater  consequence  than  her  little  disturbances  a>'«d 
tumults.  The  law  of  liuman  influence  is  deeper  than  many 
suspect,  and  they  lose  sight  of  it  altogether.  The  outward 
endeavors  made  by  good  men  or  bad  to  sway  others,  they 
call  their  influence ;  wlieroas  it  is,  in  tact,  but  a  fraction, 
and,  in  most  cases,  but  a  very  small  fraction,  of  the  good 
or  evil  that  flows  out  of  their  lives.  Nay,  I  will  even  go 
further.  How  many  persons  do  you  meet,  the  insensible 
influence  of  whose  manners  and  character  is  so  decided  as 
often  to  thwart  their  voluntary  influence ;  so  that,  whatever 
they  attempt  to  do,  in  the  way  of  controlling  others,  they 
are  sure  to  carr}^  the  exact  opposite  of  what  they  intend ! 
And  it  will  generally  be  found  that,  where  men  undertake 
by  argument  or  persuasion  to  exert  a  power,  in  the  face  of 
qualities  that  make  them  odious  or  detestable,  or  only  not 
entitled  to  respect,  their  insensible  influence  will  be  t(  o 
strong  for  them.  The  total  effect  of  the  life  is  tlien  oi  u 
kind  directly  opposite  to  the  voluntary  endeavor;  which, 
of  course,  does  not  add  so  much  as  a  fraction  to  it. 

1  call  3'our  attention,  next,  to  the  twofold  powers  of  ct- 
feet  and  expression  by  which  man  connects  with  his  lellow 
man.  If  we  distinguish  man  as  a  creature  of  hmguage, 
and  thus  qualUied  to  communicate  himself  toothers,  there 


l92  UNCONSCIOUS    INFLUENCE. 

are  in  him  two  sets  or  kmds  of  language,  one  ^hich  i; 
voluntary  in  the  use,  and  one  that  is  involuntary;  that  of 
speech  in  the  literal  sense,  and  that  expression  of  the  eye. 
the  face,  the  look,  the  gait,  the  motion,  the  tone  or  cadence, 
vN'hich  is  sometimes  called  the  natural  language  of  tht^ 
sentiments.  This  natural  language,  too,  is  greatly  enlarged 
by  the  conduct  of  life,  that  which,  in  business  and  society, 
teveals  the  principles  and  spirit  of  men.  Speech,  or  vo! 
untary  language,  is  a  door  to  the  soul,  that  we  may  open 
or  shut  at  will ;  the  other  is  a  door  that  stands  open  ever- 
more, and  reveals  to  others  constantly  and  often  ver^ 
clearly,  the  tempers,  tastes,  and  motives  of  their  hearts. 
Within,  as  we  may  represent,  is  character,  charging  the 
common  reservoir  of  influence,  and  through  these  twofold 
gates  of  the  soul,  pouring  itself  out  on  the  world.  Out  of 
one  it  flows  at  choice,  and  whensoever  we  purpose  to  do 
good  or  evil  to  men.  Out  of  the  other  it  flows  each  mo- 
ment, as  light  from  the  sun,  and  propagates  itself  in  all 
beholders. 

Then  if  we  go  over  to  others,  that  is,  to  the  subjects  of 
influence,  we  find  every  man  endowed  with  two  inlets  of 
impression ;  the  ear  and  the  understanding  fbr  the  recep- 
tion of  speech,  and  the  sympathetic  powers,  the  sensibili- 
ties or  affections,  for  tinder  to  those  sparks  of  emotion  re- 
vealed by  looks,  tones,  manners,  and  general  conduct. 
And  these  sympathetic  powers,  though  not  immediately 
faticnal,  are  yet  inlets,  open  on  all  sides,  to  the  understand- 
ing and  character.  They  have  a  certain  wonderful  capac- 
ity to  receive  impressions,  and  catch  the  meaning  of  signs, 
and  pro])agi)te  in  us  whatsoever  falls  into  their  pasaivG 
molds,  from  ■)thers.  The  impressions  they  receive  do  not 
come  through  verbal  propositionLv,  and  are  never  received 


tJNCONSCIOUS   INFLUENCE.  193 

into  verbal  proposition,  it  may  be,  in  tlie  mind,  and  there- 
tore  many  think  nothing  of  them.  But  precisely  on  this 
account  are  they  the  more  powerful,  because  it  is  as  if  one 
heart  were  thus  going  directly  into  another,  and  carrying 
in  its  feelings  with  it.  Beholding,  as  in  a  glass,  the  feel- 
ings of  our  neighbor,  we  are  changed  into  the  same  image, 
by  the  assimilating  power  of  sensibility  and  fellow-feeling. 
Many  have  gone  so  far,  and  not  without  show,  at  least,  of 
reason,  as  to  maintain  that  the  look  or  expression,  and 
even  the  very  features  of  children,  are  often  changed,  by 
exclusive  intercourse  with  nurses  and  attendants.  Fur- 
thermore, if  we  carefully  consider,  we  shall  find  it  scarcely 
possible  to  doubt,  that  simply  to  look  on  bad  and  malignant 
faces,  or  those  whose  exj)ressions  have  become  infected  by 
vice,  to  be  with  them  and  become  familiarized  to  them,  is 
enough  permanently  to  affect  the  character  of  persons  of 
mature  age.  I  do  not  say  that  it  must  of  necessity  sub- 
vert their  character,  for  the  evil  looked  upon  may  never 
be  loved  or  welcomed  in  practice ;  but  it  is  something  to 
have  these  bad  images  in  the  soul,  giving  out  their  expres- 
yions  there,  and  diffusing  their  odor  among  the  thoughts, 
as  long  as  we  live.  How  dangerous  a  thing  is  it,  for  exam- 
ple, for  a  man  to  become  accustomed  to  sights  of  cruelty  ? 
What  man,  valuing  the  honor  of  his  soul,  would  not  shriiik 
from  yielding  himself  to  such  an  influence?  No  more  is 
it  a  thing  of  indifference  to  become  accustomed  to  look  on 
the  manners,  and  receive  the  bad  expression  of  any  kind 
of  sin. 

The  door  of  involuntary  communication,  I  have  said,  ia 
always  open.  Of  course  we  are  communicating  ourselves 
in  this  way  to  others,  at  every  moment  of  our  intercourse 
or  presence  with  them.     But  how  very  seldom,  in  com- 

17 


194  UNCONSCIOUS   INFLUENCE. 

parison.  do  we  undertake  by  means  of  speech  to  infi.ience 
others  I  Even  the  best  Christian,  one  who  most  improved 
bis  opportunities  to  do  good,  attempts  but  seldom  to  sway 
another  by  voluntary  influence,  whereas  he  is  all  the  wh^e 
pliining  as  a  luminous  object  unawares,  and  communicat- 
ing of  his  heart  to  the  world. 

J3ut  there  is  yet  another  view  of  this  double  line  of 
communication  which  man  has  with  his  fellow-men,  which 
is  more  general,  and  displays  the  import  of  the  truth  yet 
more  convincingly.  It  is  by  one  of  these  modes  of  com- 
munication that  we  are  constituted  members  of  voluntary 
society,  and  by  the  other,  parts  of  a  general  mass,  or  mem- 
bers of  involuntary  society.  You  are  all,  in  a  certain 
view,  individuals,  and  separate  as  persons  from  each  other: 
you  are  also,  in  a  certain  other  view,  parts  of  a  common 
body,  as  truly  as  the  parts  of  a  stone.  Thus  if  you  ask 
how  it  is  that  you  and  all  men  came,  without  your  consen' 
to  exist  in  society,  to  be  within  its  power,  to  be  under  its 
laws,  the  answer  is,  that  while  you  arc  a  man,  you  are  also 
a  fractional  element  of  a  larger  and  more  comprehensive 
being,  called  society — be  it  the  family,  the  church,  the 
state.  In  a  certain  department  of  your  nature,  it  is  open ; 
its  sympathies  and  feelings  are  open.  On  this  open  side 
you  all  adhere  together,  as  parts  of  a  larger  nature,  in 
which  there  is  a  common  circulation  of  want,  impulse,  and 
law.  Being  thus  made  common  to  each  other  unwittingly, 
you  become  one  mass,  one  consolidated  social  body,  ani- 
mated by  one  life.  And  observe  how  far  this  involuntary 
communication  and  sympathy  between  the  members  of  a 
state  ftr  family  is  sovereign  over  their  character.  It  always 
results  in  what  we  call  the  n.ational  or  family  spiiit;  foi. 
there  is  a  spirit  peculiar  to  every  state  and  family  m  the 


UNCONSCIOUS  INFLUENCE.        195 

world.  Sometimes,  too,  this  national  or  family  si)iril  takea 
a  religious  or  an  irreligious  character,  and  appears  ahnosl 
to  absorb  the  religious  self-government  of  individuals 
What  was  the  national  spirit  of  France,  for  example,  at  a 
certain  time,  but  a  spirit  of  infidelity  ?  What  is  the  relig- 
ious spirit  of  Spain  at  this  moment,  but  a  spirit  of  bigot- 
ry, quite  as  wide  of  Christianity  and  destructive  to  char- 
acter as  the  spirit  of  falsehood  ?  What  is  the  family  spirit 
in  man 3'-  a  house,  but  the  spirit  of  gain,  or  pleasure,  or  ap- 
petite, in  which  every  thing  that  is  warm,  dignified,  genial, 
and  good  in  religion,  is  visibly  absent?  Sometimes  you 
will  almost  fancy  that  you  see  the  shapes  of  money  in  the 
eyes  of  the  children.  So  it  is  that  we  are  led  on  by  na- 
tions, as  it  were,  to  a  good  or  bad  immortality.  Far  down 
iu  the  secret  foundations  of  life  and  society,  there  lie  con- 
cealed great  laws  and  channels  of  influence,  which  mako 
the  race  common  to  each  other  in  all  the  ma,in  departments 
or  divisions  of  the  social  mass — laws  which  often  escape 
our  notice  altogether,  but  which  are  to  society  as  gravity 
to  the  general  system  of  God's  works. 

But  these  are  general  considerations,  and  more  fit,  pei- 
haps,  to  give  you  a  rational  conception  of  the  modes  of 
influence  and  their  relative  power,  than  to  verify  that  con- 
ception, or  establish  its  truth.  I  now  proceed  to  add, 
therefore,  some  miscellaneous  proofs  of  a  more  particuJa 
aature. 

And  I  mention,  first  of  all,  the  instinct  of  imitation  in 
children.  We  begin  our  mortal  experience,  not  with  acta 
grounded  in  judgment  or  reason,  or  with  ideas  received 
through  language,  but  by  simple  imitation,  and,  under  the 
guidance  of  this,  we  lay  our  foundations.  The  child  looks 
and  listens,  and  whatsoever  tcne  of  feeling  or  ma\m(;r  of 


196  UNCONSCIOUS   INFLUENCE. 

conduct  is  displayed  around  him,  sinJfs  into  his  p'astlc^ 
passive  soul,  and  becomes  a  mold  of  his  being  ever  after 
The  very  handling  of  the  nursery  is  significant,  and  ihe 
petulance,  the  passion,  the  gentleness,  the  tranquillity  in- 
dicated by  it,  are  all  reproduced  in  the  child.  His  soul  ia 
X  purely  receptive  nature,  and  that,  for  a  consfderable  pe- 
riod, without  choice  or  selection.  A  little  further  on,  he 
begins  voluntarily  to  copy  every  thing  he  sees.  Voice, 
manner,  gait,  every  thing  which  the  eye  sees,  the  mimic 
instinct  delights  to  act  over.  And  thus  we  have  a  whole 
generation  of  future  men,  receiving  from  us  their  very 
beginnings,  and  the  deepest  impulses  of  their  life  and  im- 
mortality. They  watch  us  every  moment,  in  the  family, 
before  the  hearth,  and  at  the  table ;  and  when  we  are 
meaning  them  no  good  or  evil,  when  we  are  conscious  of 
exerting  no  influence  over  them,  they  are  drawing  from 
us  impressions  and  molds  of  habit,  which,  if  wrong,  no 
heavenly  discipline  can  wholly  remove;  or,  if  right,  no 
bad  associations  utterly  dissipate.  Now  it  may  be  doubted, 
I  think,  whether,  in  all  the  active  influence  of  our  lives, 
we  do  as  much  to  shape  the  destiny  of  our  fellow-men,  as 
we  do  in  this  single  article  of  unconscious  influence  over 
children. 

Still  further  on,  respect  for  others  takes  the  place  of 
imitation.  We  naturally  desire  the  approbation  or  good 
opinion  of  others.  You  see  the  strength  of  this  feeling  in 
the  article  of  fashion.  How  few  persons  have  the  nerve 
to  resist  a  fishion !  We  have  fashions,  too,  in  literature, 
and  in  woi-ship,  and  in  moral  and  religious  doctrine,  almost 
eqaally  powerful.  How  many  will  violate  the  best  rules 
of  society,  because  it  is  the  practice  of  their  eircle !  Hovr 
many  reject  Christ  because  of  friends  or  acquaintance 


UNCONSCIOUS   IN  FLUENCE  197 

wlio  Lave  uo  sus])icioi-  of*  the  influence  tliey  exert,  and 
will  not  have,  till  the  last  day  shows  them  what  they 
have  done!  Every  good  man  has  thus  a  pcwer  in  hib 
person^  more  mighty  than  his  words  and  arguments,  ami 
whicli  others  feel  when  he  little  suspects  it  Every  bad 
man,  too,  has  a  fund  of  poison  in  his  character,  which 
is  tainting  those  around  him,  when  it  is  not  in  his 
thoughts  to  do  them  an  injury.  He  is  read  and  under 
stood.  His  sensual  tastes  and  habits,  his  unbelieving 
spirit,  his  suppressed  leer  at  religion,  have  all  a  power, 
and  take  hold  of  the  hearts  of  others,  whether  he  will 
have  it  so  or  not. 

Again,  how  well  understood  is  it,  that  the  most  activp 
feelings  and  impulses  of  mankind  are  contagious.  How 
quick  enthusiasm  of  any  sort  is  to  kindle,  and  how  rapidly 
it  catches  from  one  to  another,  till  a  nation  blazes  in  the 
flame !  In  the  case  of  the  crusades,  you  have  an  example 
where  the  personal  enthusiasm  of  one  man  put  all  the 
states  of  Eui'ope  in  motion.  Fanaticism  is  almost  equality 
contagious.  Fear  and  superstition  always  infect  the  mind 
of  the  circle  in  which  they  are  manifested.  The  spirit  of 
war  generally  becomes  an  epidemic  of  madness,  when  once 
it  has  got  possession  of  a  few  minds.  The  spirit  of  party 
is  propagated  in  a  similar  manner.  How  any  slight  ope- 
ration in  the  market  may  spread,  like  a  fire,  if  successful, 
till  trade  runs  wild  in  a  general  infatuation,  is  well  known. 
Now,  in  all  these  examples,  the  effect  is  produced,  not  by 
active  endeavor  to  carry  influence,  but  mostly  by  that  in- 
sensible propagation  which  follows,  when  a  flame  of  any 
kind  is  once  kindled. 

Is  it  also  true,  you  may  ask,  that  the  religious  spirit 

pr(>pagates  itself  or  tends  to  propagate  itself  in  the  saine 

17* 


19b  UNCONSCIOUS   IXFLTENCE. 

way  'f  I  see  no  reason  to  question  that  it  does.  Nor  doe* 
any  thing  in  the  doctrine  of  spiritual  influences,  wher. 
rightly  understood,  forbid  the  supposition.  E'or  spiritual 
influences  are  never  separated  from  the  laws  of  thought  in 
the  individual,  and  the  laws  of  feeling  and  influence  in  so 
ciety.  If,  too,  every  disciple  is  to  be  an  "epistle  knowi. 
and  read  of  all  men,"  what  shall  we  expect,  but  that  all 
men  will  be  somehow  affected  by  the  reading?  Or,  if  he 
is  to  be  a  light  in  the  world,  what  shall  we  look  for,  but 
that  others,  seeing  his  good  works,  shall  glorify  God  on  his 
account?  How  often  is  it  seen  too  as  a  fact  of  observation, 
that  one,  or  a  few  good  men  kindle  at  length  a  holy  fire 
in  the  community  in  which  they  live,  and  become  the 
leaven  of  a  general  reformation  I  Such  men  give  a  more 
vivid  proof  in  their  persons  of  the  reality  of  religious 
faith,  than  any  words  or  arguments  could  yield.  They  are 
active ;  they  endeavor,  of  course,  to  exert  a  good  volun- 
tary influence ;  but  still  their  chief  power  lies  in  their  holi- 
ness, and  the  sense  they  produce  in  others  of  their  close 
relation  to  God, 

It  now  remains  to  exhibit  the  very  important  fact,  that 
where  the  c):.rect  or  active  influence  of  men  is  supposed  to 
be  great,  even  this  is  due,  in  a  principal  degree,  to  that  in- 
sensible influence  by  which  their  arguments,  reproofs,  and 
{)ersuasions  are  secretly  invigorated.  It  is  not  mere  words 
which  turn  men ;  it  is  the  heart  mounting,  uncalled,  into 
(he  expression  of  the  features ;  it  is  the  eye  illuminated  by 
reason,  the  look  beaming  with  goodness;  it  is  the  tone  oi 
the  voice,  that  instrument  of  the  soul,  which  chai-;ges  qual 
ity  with  su.oh  amazing  facility,  and  gives  out  in  the  soft, 
the  tender,  the  tremulous,  the  firm,  every  shade  of  emo- 
tion and  chiiracter.     And  so  much  ^s  there  in  this,  that  thf 


UXCONSCIOUS   INFLUENCE.  109 

moral  st;itiire  and  character  of  the  man  tliat  speaks  are 
likely  lo  be  well  represented  in  his  manner.  If  he  is  a 
btranger,  his  way  will  inspire  confidence  and  attract  good 
will.  His  virtues  will  be  seen,  as  it  were,  gathering  round 
Iiim  to  minister  words  and  forms  of  thought,  and  then 
voices  will  be  heard  in  the  fall  of  his  cadences  And  the 
same  is  true  of  bad  men,  or  men  who  have  nothing  in  theii 
character  corresponding  to  what  they  attempt  to  do.  If 
without  heart  or  interest  you  attempt  to  move  another,  the 
involuntary  man  tells  what  you  are  doing,  in  a  hundred 
ways  at  once.  A  hypocrite,  endeavoring  to  exert  a  gc>od 
influence,  only  tries  to  convey  by  words  what  the  lying 
look,  aid  the  faithless  affectation,  or  dry  exaggeration  of 
his  manner,  perpetually  resists.  We  have  it  for  a  fashion 
to  attribute  great  or  even  prodigious  results  to  the  volun- 
tary efforts  and  labors  of  men.  Whatever  they  eflfect  is 
commonly  referred  to  nothing  but  the  immediate  power  of 
what  they  do.  Let  us  take  an  example,  like  that  of  Paul, 
and  analyze  it.  Paul  was  a  man  of  great  fervor  and  en- 
thusiasm. He  combined,  withal,  more  of  what  is  lofty  and 
morally  commanding  in  his  character,  than  most  of  the 
very  distinguished  men  of  the  world.  Having  this  for  his 
natural  character,  and  his  natural  character  exalted  and 
made  luminous  by  christian  faith,  and  the  manifest  in- 
dwelling of  God,  he  had  of  course  an  almost  suj^erhuman 
sway  over  others.  Doubtless  he  was  intelligent,  strong  in 
argiiment,  eloquent,  active,  to  the  utmost  of  his  powers, 
but  still  he  moved  the  world  more  by  what  he  was  than 
by  what  he  did.  The  grandeur  and  spiritual  splendor  of 
his  character  were  (  ver  adding  to  his  active  efforts  an  ele- 
ment of  silent  power,  which  was  the  real  and  chief  causf 
of  their  efficacy.     He  convinced,  subdued,  inspired,  and 


2<)0  UNCONSCIOUS    INFLUENCE. 

led,  because  of  the  half  divine  authority  which  appearc(i 
in  his  conduct,  and  his  glowing  spirit.  He  fought  tht 
good  fight,  because  he  kept  the  faitl,  and  filled  his  pow- 
erful nature  with  influences  drawn  from  higher  worlds. 

And  hers  I  must  conduct  jou  to  a  yet  higher  example, 
even  that  of  the  Son  of  God,  the  light  of  the  world. 
Men  dislike  to  be  swayed  by  direct,  voluntary  influence. 
They  are  jealous  of  such  control,  and  are  therefore  best 
approached  by  conduct  and  feeling,  and  the  authority  of 
simple  worth,  which  seem  to  make  no  purposed  onset.  If 
goodness  appears,  they  welcome  its  celestial  smile ;  if  heav- 
er- descends  to  encircle  them,  they  yield  to  its  sweetness; 
if  truth  appears  in  the  life,  they  honor  it  with  a  secrei 
homage;  if  personal  majesty  and  glory  appear,  they  bo'w 
with  reverence,  and  acknowledge  with  shame,  their  own 
vileness.  Now  it  is  on  this  side  of  human  nature  tha: 
Christ  visits  us,  preparing  just  that  kind  of  influence  which 
the  spirit  of  truth  may  wield  with  the  most  persuasive  and 
subduing  effect.  It  is  the  grandeur  of  his  character  which 
constitutes  the  chief  power  of  his  ministry,  not  his  niir 
acles  or  teachings  apart  from  his  character.  Miracles  were 
useful,  at  the  time,  to  arrest  attention,  and  his  doctrine  is 
useful  at  all  times  as  the  highest  revelation  of  truth  povssi- 
ble  in  speech ;  but  the  greatest  truth  of  the  gospel,  not 
withstanding,  is  Christ  himself — a  human  body  become 
the  organ  of  tlie  divine  nature,  and  revealing,  under  the 
conditions  of  an  earthly  life,  the  glory  of  God!  The 
Scripture  writers  have  much  to  say,  in  this  connection,  of 
the  image  of  God ;  and  an  image,  you  know,  is  that  which 
bimply  represents,  not  that  which  acts,  or  reasons^  or  per- 
suades. Now  it  is  this  image  of  God  which  makes  the 
center,   the  sun  itself;  of  the  gospel.      The  journeyings. 


UNCONSCIOUS   INFl-UE.VCE.  201 

teai;hiiigs,  miracles,  and  s\ifferings  of  Christ,  all  had  theii 
ase  in  bringing  out  this  image,  or  what  is  the  same,  in 
making  conspicuous  the  character  and  feelings  oi  <iod, 
both  toward  sinners  and  toward  sin.  And  here  is  the 
power  of  Chi'ist — it  is  what  of  God's  beauty,  love,  truth, 
and  justice  shines  through  him.  It  is  the  influence  which 
tiows  unconsciously  and  spontaneously  out  of  Christ,  as 
the  friend  of  man,  the  light  of  the  world,  the  glory  of 
the  Father,  made  visible.  And  some  have  gone  so  far  as 
to  conjecture  that  God  made  the  human  person,  originally, 
with  a  view  to  its  becoming  the  organ  or  vehicle,  by  whicji 
he  might  reveal  his  communicable  attributes  to  other  worlds. 
Christ,  they  believe,  came  to  inhabit  this  organ,  that  he 
might  execute  a  purpose  so  sublime.  The  human  person 
is  constituted,  they  say,  to  be  a  mirror  of  God ;  and  God, 
being  imaged  in  that  mirror,  as  in  Christ,  is  held  up  to  the 
view  of  this  and  other  worlds.  It  certainly  is  to  the  view 
of  this ;  and  if  the  Divine  nature  can  use  this  organ  so 
effectively  to  express  itself  unto  us,  if  it  can  bring  itself, 
through  the  looks,  tones,  motions,  and  conduct  of  a 
human  person,  more  close  to  our  sympathies  than 
by  any  other  means,  how  can  we  think  that  an  organ 
so  communicative,  inhabited  by  us,  is  not  always  breath- 
ing our  spirit  and  transferring  our  image  insensibly  tc 
others  ? 

I  ha^  e  protracted  the  argument  on  this  subject  beyond 
what  I  could  have  wished,  but  I  oan  not  dismiss  it  without 
guggestmg  a  few  thcights  necessary  to  its  complete  prac- 
tical effect. 

One  very  obvious  and  serious  inference  from  it,  and  the 
first  which  I  will  name,  is,  that  it  is  impossible  to  live  in 


202  UNCONSCTOUS   INFLUENCE. 

lliis  world,  and  escape  responsibility.  It  is  not  they  aione^ 
as  yoa  have  seen,  who  ai-e  trying  purposely  to  convert  oi 
corrupt  others,  who  exert  an  influence;  you  can  not  live 
witliout  exerting  influence.  The  doors  of  your  soul  are 
open  on  others,  and  theirs  on  you.  You  inhabit  a  house 
which  is  well  nigh  transparent;  and  what  you  are  within, 
you  are  5ver  showing  yourself  to  be  without,  by  signs  that 
have  no  ambiguous  expression.  If  you  had  the  seeds  of  o 
pestilence  in  your  body,  you  would  not  have  a  more  active 
contagion,  than  you  have  in  your  tempers,  tastes,  and  prin- 
ciples. Simply  to  be  in  this  world,  whatever  you  are,  is 
to  exert  an  influence — an  influence,  too,  compared  with 
which  mere  language  and  persuasion  are  feeble.  You  say 
that  you  mean  well ;  at  least,  you  think  you  mean  to  in- 
jure no  one.  Do  you  injure  no  one?  Is  your  example 
harmless  ?  Is  it  ever  on  the  side  of  God  and  duty  ?  You 
can  not  reasonably  doubt  that  others  are  continually  re- 
ceiving impressions  from  your  character.  As  little  can 
you  doubt  that  you  must  answer  for  these  impressions.  If 
the  influence  you  exert  is  unconsciously  exerted,  then  it  is 
only  the  most  sincere,  the  truest  expression  of  your  char- 
acter. And  for  what  can  you  be  held  responsible,  if  not 
for  this?  Do  not  deceive  yourselves  in  the  thought  that 
you  are,  at  least,  doing  no  injury,  and  are,  therefore,  living 
witliout  responsibility ;  first  make  it  sure  that  you  are  not 
every  hour  infusing  moral  death  insensibly  into  your  child- 
ren, wives,  husbands,  friends,  and  acquaintances.  B}''  a 
mere  look  or  glance,  not  unlikely,  you  are  conveying  the 
Influence  that  shall  turn  the  scale  of  some  one's  immortal- 
ity. Dismiss,  therefore,  the  thought  that  you  are  living 
without  responsibility;  that  is  impossible.  Better  is  it 
frankly  to  admit  the  truth;  and   if  you  will    risk   the 


0  N  C  O  N  s    :     U  S  1  N  F  ].  r  E  N  C  E  .  2u3 

influcucc  of  a  character  unsanctijied  by  duty  and  religion, 
prepare  lo  meei  youi  rc^ciconmg  maufully,  aud  receive 
the  just  recompense  of  reward. 

The  true  philosophy  or  method  of  doing  good  is  alsc 
here  explained.  It  is,  first  of  all  and  principally,  to  he 
good — to  have  a  character  that  will  of  itself  commuui- 
catc  good  There  must  and  will  be  active  efibrt  where 
there  is  goodness  of  principle;  but  the  latter  we  should 
hold  to  be  the  principal  thing,  the  root  and  life  of  all. 
Whether  it  is  a  mistake  more  sad  or  more  ridiculous,  to 
make  mere  stir  synonymous  with  doing  good,  we  need  not 
inquire ;  enough,  to  be  sure  that  one  who  has  taken  up  such 
a  notion  of  doing  good,  is  for  that  reason  a  nuisance  to 
the  church.  The  Christian  is  called  a  light,  not  light- 
ning. In  order  to  act  with  effect  on  others,  he  must  walk 
in  the  Spirit,  and  thus  become  the  image  of  goodness :  he 
must  be  so  akin  to  God,  and  so  filled  with  His  dispositions, 
that  he  shall  seem  to  surround  himself  with  a  hallowed  at- 
mosphere. It  is  folly  to  endeavor  to  make  ourselves  shine 
before  we  are  luminous.  If  the  sun  without  his  beams 
should  talk  to  the  planets,  and  argue  with  them  till  the 
final  day,  it  would  not  make  them  shine ;  there  must  be 
light  in  the  sun  itself,  and  then  they  will  shine,  of  course. 
And  this,  my  brethren,  is  what  God  intends  for  you  all. 
It  is  the  great  idea  of  his  gospel,  and  the  work  of  hii< 
spirit,  to  make  you  lights  in  the  world.  His  greatest  joy 
is  to  give  you  character,  to  beautify  your  example,  to 
exalt  your  principles  and  make  you  each  tne  depository 
of  his  own  almighty  grace.  But  in  order  to  this,  some- 
thing is  necessary  on  your  part — a  full  surrender  of  your 
mind  to  duty  aud  to  God,  and  a  perpetual  desire  of  this 
Sfiiritual  intimacy;    having   this,   having  a   participation 


204  UNCOKSCIOUS   INFLUENCE. 

thus  of  the  goodness  of  God,  you  will  as  naturally  com 
municate  good  as  the  sun  communicates  his  beams. 

Our  doctr.ne  of  unconscious  and  undesigning  influence, 
shows  how  it  is,  also,  that  the  preaching  of  Christ  is  often 
so  unfruitful,  and  especially  in  times  of  spiritual  coldness. 
It  is  not  because  truth  ceases  to  be  truth,  nor,  of  necessity; 
because  it  is  preached  in  a  less  vivid  manner,  but  becauso 
there  are  so  many  influences,  preaching  against  the  preacher, 
lie  is  one,  the  people  are  many ;  his  attempt  to  convince 
and  persuade  is  a  voluntary  iDfluence;  their  lives,  or  the 
other  hand,  and  especially  the  lives  of  those  who  profess 
what  is  better,  are  so  many  unconscious  influences,  ever 
streaming  forth  upon  the  people,  and  back  and  forth  be- 
tween each  other.  He  preaches  the  truth,  and  they,  with 
one  consent,  are  preaching  the  truth  down;  and  how  can 
he  prevail  against  so  many,  and  by  a  kind  of  influence  so 
unequal?  When  the  people  of  God  are  glowing  with 
spiritual  devotion  to  Him,  and  love  to  men,  the  case  is  dif- 
ferent; then  they  are  all  preaching  with  the  preacher,  and 
making  an  atmosphere  of  warmth  for  his  words  to  fall  in : 
great  is  the  company  of  them  that  publish  the  truth,  and 
proportionall}^  great  its  power.  Shall  I  say  more  ?  Have 
you  not  already  felt,  my  brethren,  the  application  to  which 
I  would  bring  you?  We  do  not  exonerate  ourselves;  we 
do  not  claim  to  be  nearer  to  God  or  holier  than  you ;  but 
ah !  you  kaow  not  how  easy  it  is  to  make  a  winter  about 
us,  or  how  cold  it  feels !  Our  endeavor  is  to  preach  the 
truth  of  Christ  and  his  cross  as  clearlv  and  as  forcibly  as 
we  can.  Sometimes  it  has  a  visible  effect,  and  we  are  filled 
with  joy :  sometimes  it  has  no  effect,  and  then  we  struggle 
on,  as  we  must,  but  under  great  oppression.  Have  we 
none  among  you  that  preach  against  us  in  yonr  live;-:?     15 


CNCONSCIOUS    INFLUENCE,  205 

we  show  you  the  light  of  God's  truth,  does  it  never  fall 
on  banks  of  ice";  which  if  the  light  shines  through,  the 
crystal  masses  are  yet  as  cold  as  before?  AVe  do  not  ae 
case  you;  that  we  leave  to  God,  and  to  those  who  may 
rise  up  in  the  last  day  to  testify  against  you.  If  they  shall 
come  out  of  your  own  families ;  if  they  are  the  children 
that  wear  your  names,  the  husband  or  wife  of  your  aifec 
tions;  if  they  declare  that  you,  by  your  example,  kept 
them  away  from  Christ's  truth  and  mercy,  we  may  have 
accusations  to  meet  of  our  own  and  we  leave  you  to  ac- 
quit yourselves  as  best  you  may.  I  only  warn  you,  here, 
of  the  guilt  which  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  will  impute  to 
them  that  hinder  his  gospel. 


XI. 

OBLIGATION   A   PRIVILEGE. 

Psalms  cxiz.  54. — "  Thy  statutes  have  beer,  my  songs  ii 
the  house  of  iny  pilgrimagey 

When  the  eastern  traveler  takes  shelter  from  the  scorch- 
ing heal  of  noon,  or  halts  for  the  night,  in  some  inn  oi 
caravansary,  which  is,  for  the  time,  the  house  of  his  pil- 
grimage, he  takes  the  sackbut  or  the  lyre  and  sooths  his 
rest  with  a  song — a  song  it  may  be  of  war,  romance,  or 
love.  But  the  poet  of  Israel  finds  his  theme,  we  perceive, 
in  the  statutes  of  Jehovah — Thy  statutes  have  been  my 
gongs  in  the  house  of  my  pilgrimage.  These  have  been 
my  pastime,  with  these  I  have  refreshed  my  resting  hours 
by  the  way,  and  cheered  myself  onward  through  the  wea- 
risome journey  and  across  the  scorching  deserts  of  life. 
Not  songs  of  old  tradition,  not  ballads  of  war,  or  wine, 
or  love,  have  supported  me,  but  I  have  sung  of  God's 
commandments,  and  these  have  been  the  solace  of  my 
weary  hours,  the  comfort  of  my  rest.  This  119th  Psalm, 
which  is,  in  every  verse,  an  ode  or  hymn  in  praise  of 
G(jd's  low, — suflticieKtIy  illustrates  his  meaning. 

Multitudes  of  mer,  it  is  evident  as  it  need  be,  have  a 
very  different  conception  of  this  matter.  Divine  lav^--,  di' 
vine  obligation,  responsibility  in  any  form,  authority  un- 
der any  conditions,  the}'  feel  to  be  a  real  annoyance  to 
life.  They  want  their  own  will  and  way.  Why  must 
they  be  hampered  by  these  c<iistant  restrictions?     Why 


OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE.  2U7 

must  they  be  snortened  lu  tlicir  pleasures,  crippU'd  in  ttieu 
.uiihitiuu,  held  back  from  all  their  strongest  impulses; 
I  list  those  by  which  they  might  otherwise  show  their  vigoi 
and  make  a  brave  and  manly  figure  of  their  life.  But  in- 
stead of  being  allowed  any  such  generous  freedom,  the}' 
are  tethered  they  fancy,  tamed,  subjected  to  continual 
scruples  of  fear  and  twinges  of  conviction,  confused,  weak- 
ened, let  down  in  their  confidence,  and  all  the  best  3om- 
fort  of  their  life  is  taken  away.  Could  they  only  be  rid 
of  this  annoyance,  life  would  be  a  comparatively  easy  and 
fair  experience. 

In  this  controversy  you  have  taken  up  with  the  Psalmist, 
he  is  very  plainly  right,  and  you  as  plainly  wrong;  as  I 
shall  now  undertake  to  show,  and  as  you,  considering  thai 
God's  law  is  upon  j^ou  and  can  by  no  means  be  escaped, 
ought  most  gladly  to  hear  and  discover.  His  doctrine, 
removing  the  poetry  of  the  form,  is  this, — • 

That  obligation  to  God  is  our  privilege. 

Some  of  you  will  fancy,  it  may  be,  at  the  outset,  that  the 
pilgrimage  he  speaks  of  is  made  by  the  statutes;  that  the 
restrictions  of  obligations  are  so  hard  and  close,  as  to  cut 
off,  in  fact,  all  the  true  pleasures  of  life,  and  reduce  it  to  a 
pilgrimage  in  its  dryness.  But  this  pilgrimage  is  made 
by  no  sense  of  restriction.  Every  man,  even  the  most  li- 
centious and  reckless  is  a  pilgrim;  the  atheist  is  a  pilgrim; 
such  are  only  a  more  unhappy  class  of  pilgrims,  a  reluct- 
ant class  who  are  driven  across  the  deserts,  cheerfully  trav- 
ersed by  others,  and  by  the  fountains  where  others  quencl; 
their  thirst.  There  is  a  perfect  harmony  between  obliga 
tion  to  God  and  all  the  sources  of  pleasure  and  happii-e.s.' 


208  OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEG?. 

God  has  provided,  so  that  there  is  no  real  collision  bolweer 
the  statutes  over  us  and  the  conditions  round  us.  It  ia 
only  false  pleasures  that  are  denied  us,  those  that  wouln 
brutalize  the  mind,  or  mar  the  health  of  the  body,  ot 
somehow  violate  the  happiness  of  fellow  beings  round  as. 
Consider  the  long  run  of  life  and  take  in  all  the  interesta 
of  it,  and  you  will  find  that  what  we  c^ll  obligation  to 
God,  not  only  does  not  infringe  upon  your  pleasures,  but 
actually  commands  you  on,  to  the  greatest  and  highest 
enjoyments  of  which  you  are  capable. 

There  is  another  objection  or  false  impression  that  needs 
to  be  noticed ;  viz.,  that  the  very  enforcements  of  penalty 
and  terror  added  to  God's  law,  to  compel  an  acceptance  of 
it  or  obedience  to  it,  are  a  kind  of  concession  that  it  is  not 
a  privilege,  but  a  restriction  or  severity  rather,  which  can 
not  otherwise  be  carried.  Is  it  then  a  fair  inference,  that 
human  laws  are  severe  and  ha'-d  restrictions,  and  no  true 
privilege,  or  blessing,  because  iliey  are  duly  enforced  by 
additions  of  penalty  ?  It  is  only  to  malefactors  and  felona 
that  they  are  so;  and  for  these  only,  considered  as  being 
enforced  by  terrors,  they  are  made.  They  are  restrictions 
to  the  lawless  and  disobedient,  never  to  the  good.  On  the 
contrary,  a  right  minded,  loyal  people,  will  value  their 
laws  and  cherish  them  as  the  safeguard  even  of  their  lib- 
erty. Just  so  also,  the  righteous  man  will  have  God'.' 
t^tatutes  for  his  songs,  in  all  the  course  of  his  pilgrimage. 

Dismissing  now  these  common  impressions,  let  us  go  (ni 
vO  inquire  a  little  more  definitely,  how  it  would  be  with  n:<, 
if  we  existed  under  no  terms  of  obligation;  for  if  we  ni-t 
to  settle  it  fairly,  whether  obligation  is  a  privilege  or  n^t, 
this  manifestly  is  the  mode  in  which  the  question  s]ioul<; 
be  stated.     The  true  alternative  between  obligation  and  ne 


OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE  20P 

obligation  supposes,  on  the  negative  side,  tliat  we  arc  not 
even  to  have  the  sense  of  obligation,  or  of  moral  distinc- 
tions ;  for  the  sense  of  obligation  is  the  same  thing  as  be- 
ing obliged,  or  put  in  responsibility. 

In  such  a  case,  our  external  condition  must  obvioiislj 
be  as  different  as  possible  from  what  it  is  now. 

In  the  first  place,  there  could,  of  course,  be  no  such 
thing  as  criminal  law  for  the  defense  of  property,  reputa- 
tion and  life;  because  the  moral  distinctions,  in  which 
criminal  law  is  grounded,  are  all  wanting.  The  laws 
against  theft  and  murder,  for  example,  suppose  the  fact 
that  these  are  understood  already  and  blamed  as  being 
wrongs — violations,  that  is,  of  moral  obligation.  And 
there  is  no  conceivable  way  of  defining  these  crimes,  and 
bringing  them  to  judgment,  except  by  reference  to  notions, 
or  distinctions  already  admitted.  Murder,  for  example, 
can  not  be  defined  as  a  mere  killing,  or  in  any  external 
way;  for  no  external  sign  will  hold  without  exception. 
Hence  the  law  is  obliged  to  define  it  as  a  killing  with  mal 
ice  aforethought — to  go  into  the  heart,  that  is,  and  distin- 
guish it  there,  as  being  done  with  a  consciously  criminal 
intent.  The  defenses  of  civil  societ}^,  therefore,  must  all 
be  wanting,  where  there  is  no  recognized  obligation  to 
God.  yje  are  so  far  reduced  to  the  condition  of  the  quad- 
ruped races.  Having,  as  they,  no  moral  and  religious 
ideas,  we  can  not  legislate.  Civil  society  is,  in  fact,  im- 
possible, and  all  that  is  genial  and  peaceful,  under  the  be- 
nign protection  of  the  state,  is  a  good  no  longer  attainable, 
If  a  rn;in"s  property  is  plundered,  he  knows  it  only  ns  r. 
loss,  not  as  a  crime.  If  his  children  are  murdered  or  sold 
"mto  slavery,  he  may  be  angry  as  a  bear  robtca  of    iie; 


210  OBi.lGATION    A    PRIVILEGE. 

whelps,  but  lie  has  no  conception  of  a  wrong  in  what  he 
suffers.  There  is  nothing  left  us  in  these  low  possibiliti:8, 
but  to  herd,  as  animals  do,  and  take  from  each  other  what 
wo  must;  to  gore  and  tear  and  devour;  to  fly,  to  hide,  to 
quiver  with  terror,  the  weak  before  the  strong,  and  so  live 
on  as  we  best  can ;  for  to  invent  a  criminal  law  without 
even  the  notion  of  a  crime,  and  to  phrase  it  in  language 
that  any  tribunal  could  interpret,  when  the  idea  of  cnme 
has  not  yet  arrived,  is  manifestly  impossible. 

Again,  what  we  call  society,  as  far  as  there  is  any  element 
of  dignity  or  blessing  in  it,  depends  on  these  moral  obli- 
gations. AVithout  these  it  would  be  intercourse  without 
friendship,  truth,  charit}^,  or  mercy.  All  that  is  warm  and 
trustful  and  dear  in  society,  rests  in  the  keeping  of  these 
moral  bonds.  Extinguish  moral  ideas  and  laws  and  these 
lovely  virtues  also  die ;  for  their  life  is  upheld  by  the  sense 
of  duty  and  right.  Where  there  is  no  law  there  ia  no  sin, 
or  guilt — as  little  is  there  any  virtue.  Of  course  there  is 
nothing  to  ])raiso,  or  confide  in.  Truth  is  not  conceived. 
Friendship  and  love  arc  things  of  convenience,  determin- 
able also  by  convenience.  Chastity,  without  the  moral 
idea,  is  a  name  as  honorable  as  hunger,  and  as  worthy  to 
be  kept.  Purity  and  truth  are  accidents.  Domestic  faith 
and  the  tender  affections  that  ennoble  and  bless  the  homes, 
are  as  reliable  as  the  other  caprices  of  unregulated  impulse 
and  passion.  Without  moral  obligations,  therefore,  bind- 
ing us  to  God,  society  is  discontinued.  Nothing  that  do- 
serves  the  name  is  possible.  Life,  in  fact,  is  wrong  with 
out  a  sense  of  wrong;  society  a  proximity  of  distrust  and 
fear,  and  the  passions,  unrestrained  by  duty,  a  hell  of  gen 
sral  torment,  without  any  sense  of  blame  to  explain  it. 

But  these  are  matters  external  to  which  I  refer,  just  t< 


obligation;    a   puivilege.  211 

Kill  Up  some  faint  conception  of  the  immense!  revolutior. 
it  makes  in  onr  human  existence,  only  to  remove  this  one 
element  of  obligation.  Let  us  enter  now  the  spiritual  na 
ture  itself,  and  see  how  much  is  there  depending  on  this 
great  privilege  of  obligation  to  God. 

This  claim  of  God's  authority,  this  bond  of  duty  liiid 
upon  us,  is  virtually  the  throne  of  God  erected  in  the 
?oid.  It  is  sovereign,  of  course,  unaccoinmodating  there- 
fore, and  may  be  felt  as  a  sore  annoyance.  When  violated, 
it  will  scorch  the  bosom  even,  with  pangs  of  remorse  that 
are  the  most  fiery  and  implacable  of  all  mental  suffer- 
ings. But  of  this,  there  is  no  need ;  all  such  pains  are 
avoidable  by  due  obedience.  And  then  obligation  to  God 
becomes  the  spring  instead,  of  the  most  dignified,  fullest, 
healthiest  joys  any  where  attainable.  The  self-approving 
consciousness,  the  consciousness  of  good- — what  can  raise 
one  to  a  loftier  pitch  of  confidence  and  blessing.  It  ia 
with  these  obligations  to  God,  just  as  it  is  with  the  pjhysical 
laws.  These  latter,  violated  by  neglect,  excess,  or  obsti- 
nacy, are  our  most  relentless  enemies  and  persecutoi's ;  re- 
spected and  deferred  to,  !hey  become  our  most  faithful 
friends  and  helpers.  Did  any  one  ever  judge,  on  this  ac- 
count, that  they  are  only  hmdrances  and  restraints  on  our 
happiness  which  were  better  to  be  discontinued?  Loosen 
llien  the  grand  attractions,  and  let  the  huge  bulks  of  heav- 
en fly  as  they  will.  Make  the  stones  soluble,  at  times,  and 
the  waters  combustible,  without  any  change  of  conditions ; 
let  congelation  be  sometimes  b}  fire,  and  liquefaction  by 
frost ;  let  the  water -fall  sometimes  mount  upward  into  the 
air,  and  the  smoke  plunge  downward  on  the  ground.  A])ol' 
lah  all  the  stable  restrictions  of  law,  and  let  nature  loose 


212  OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE. 

to  go  such  way,  or  after  such  gait,  as  she  pleases ;  and,  by 
that  time,  we  shall  find  that  her  uses  are  gone,  and  that  ah 
oar  magnificent  liberty  in  them  is  taken  away.  The  pow- 
ers, which  before  consented  to  serve  us,  have  become  our 
enemies,  and  we  are  lost  in  a  hell  of  physical  anarchy  that 
suSers  none  of  the  uses  of  life.  Just  so  it  would  be,  if  we 
could  exterminate  and  strip  out  of  our  way  these  con- 
straints of  obligation  to  God.  We  should  find  that  even 
the  release  we  covet  is,  in  fact,  the  bitterest  and  sorest  frus- 
tration of  our  desired  liberty. 

Thus  how  much,  for  example,  does  it  signify,  as  regards 
youi-  comfort,  that  this  one  matter,  a  matter  so  profoundly 
central  too,  in  your  experiences  and  views  of  life,  is  fixed. 
Opinions,  sentiments,  hopes,  fears,  popularities,  and  to 
these  also  you  may  add  all  the  honors  and  gifts  of  fortune, 
are  in  a  fluxile,  shifting  state.  There  is  no  fixed  element 
in  any  one  of  them.  You  live  in  them  as  you  do  in  the 
weather.  Even  the  courses  of  your  mind,  and  the  shiftiDg 
phases  you  pass  are  a  kind  of  internal  weather  that  never 
settles^  or  becomes  fixed.  But  in  the  sacred  fact  of  obli- 
gation you  touch  the  immutable  and  lay  hold,  as  it  were, 
of  the  eternities.  At  the  very  center  of  your  being,  thero 
is  a  fixed  element,  and  that  of  a  kind  or  degree  essentially 
sovereign.  And  in  that  fact  every  thing  pertaining  to 
your  existence  is  changed.  You  are  no  more  afloat  or 
a-sea,  in  the  endless  phases  and  variabilities  just  referred  to, 
but  a  very  large  class  of  your  judgments  and  views  of  life 
and  acknowledged  principles  are  immovably  settled.  A 
standard  is  set  up  in  your  thought,  by  which  a  great  pari 
of  your  questions  are  determined,  and  about  which  youi 
otherwise  random  thoughts  may  settle  into  order  and  law. 
Few  men  ever  con(eive  what  they  owe  to  obligation  hero, 


OB  T.I  GAT  I  ON    A    PRIVILEGE.  21& 

as  the  mere  bond  of  order  and  mental  conservatioa 
Doubtless  obligation  violated,  is  the  minister  of  pain,  but 
to  be  without  obligation,  is  a  pain  more  bitter  and  distract 
ing ;  for  it  is  much  to  know  that  you  have  a  compass  ic 
ihe  ship,  even  if  you  do  not  use  it.  Sent  forth  into  life  to 
choose  every  thing  by  mere  interest  and  will,  to  be  played 
with  always  by  your  passions  and  yo\ir  fancies,  and  to 
frame  your  judgments  apart  from  any  fixed  point  or  stand- 
ard of  judgment,  b'fe  would  soon  become  a  distressful 
puzzle  to  3^ou,  which  you  could  not  bear.  You  would 
make  and  unmake,  till  you  lost  all  stability  and  all  con- 
fidence in  your  own  thoughts.  Your  confusion  itself 
would  be  insupportable.  You  would  even  go  mad  in  the 
struggle ;  you  w^ould  cry  aloud  and  lift  your  dismal  prayer 
to  accident,  in  fault  of  any  other  divinity,  for  something 
fixed.  Give  me  fate,  give  me  something  established, 
though  it  be  a  continent  of  fire !  I  can  not  live  in  these 
bottomless  sands ! 

How  good  and  sublime  a  gift,  in  this  view,  is  the  gift  of 
law.  It  comes  down  smiling  from  the  skies  and  enters 
into  souls,  as  the  begiiming  and  throne  of  wisdom.  Or  using 
a  diiferent  figure,  we  may  say  that  man  comes  into  being 
bringing  his  law  with  him  ;  a  law  as  definite  and  stable  as 
that  of  the  firmament ;  one  that  shall  go  with  him,  when 
consentingly  accepted,  and  mark  out  the  path  of  his  pil- 
grimage, binding  all  his  otherwise  random  exercises  of 
desire,  fancy  and  free  will,  to  an  orbit  of  goodness  and 
truth.  Every  thing  within  him  now  is  under  a  deter- 
minating rule.  His  soul  is  held  in  a  harmonious  balance; 
of  powers,  like  the  heavenly  worlds.  Eeason,  feeling,  pas- 
sion, fancy,  all  work  in  together  under  the  great  cons?rv- 
in^-  law  of  obligation  to  God,  and  the  soul  is  kept  m  re 


214  OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE. 

collection,  as  a  self-understanding  natnre.  Wlio  can  think 
of  man,  wedded  in  this  manner  to  the  stability  and  eter* 
nity  of  God,  witliont  uniting  a  sense  even  of  grandeui  and 
sublimity  with  the  bond  of  obh'gation  by  which  he  is  thus 
set  fast  and  centralized  in  the  immutable. 

Consider,  again,  tlie  truly  fraternal  relation  between  our 
obligations  to  God  and  what  we  call  our  liberty.  Instead 
of  restraining  our  liberty,  they  only  show  us,  in  fact,  how 
to  Tise  our  liberty,  and  how  to  air  it,  if  I  may  so  speak,  in 
great  and  heroic  actions.  How  insipid  and  foolish  a  thing 
were  life  if  there  were  nothing  laid  upon  us  to  do.  What 
is  it,  on  the  other  hand,  but  the  zest  and  glory  of  life,  that 
something  good  and  great,  something  really  worthy  to  be 
done  is  laid  upon  us.  It  is  not  self-indulgence  allowed.^ 
but  victory  achieved,  that  can  make  a  fit  happiness  for 
man.  Therefore  we  are  set  down  hei"e  amid  changes,  perils, 
wrongs  and  miseries,  where,  to  save  ourselves  and  serve 
our  kind,  all  manner  of  great  works  are  to  be  done.  Be- 
sides, we  practically  admit  the  arrangement  niuchoftenei 
than  we  think.  Tell  any  young  man,  for  example,  who 
is  just  converted  to  Clirist,  of  some  great  sacrifice  he  is 
called  to  make ;  as  in  preaching  Christ  to  men,  or  going  to 
preach  him  to  the  heathen ;  and  that  call,  set  forth  as  a 
sacrifice  of  all  things,  will  work  upon  him  more  power- 
fully, by  a  hundred  times,  than  it  would  if  you  undertook 
to  soften  it  by  showing  what  respect  he  Avould  gain,  how 
comfortable  he  would  be,  and  how  much  easier  in  this  than 
in  any  other  calling  of  life.  We  do  not  want  any  such 
caresses  in  the  name  of  duty.  To  let  go  self-indiilgenco 
and  try  something  stronger,  is  a  call  that  draws  us  always, 
when  our  heart  is  up  for  duty ;  nay,  even  nature  loves 
heroic  impulse  and  oftentimes  prefers  the  difhcult. 


OBLIGATION    A     PRIVILEGE.  215 

It  is  well,  therefore, — all  the  better  tliat  we  are  put  upoa 
the  doing  of  what  is  not  always  agreeable  to  the  flesh 
And  when  God  lays  upon  us  the  duties  of  self-coro?nand 
and  self-sacrifice,  when  he  calls  us  to  act  and  tc  suffer  he^ 
roicallv.  how  could  he  more  eflPectually  dignify  or  ennoble 
our  liberty?  Now  we  have  our  object  and  our  errand,  and 
we  know  that  we  can  meet  our  losses,  come  as  they  will- 
Before  every  man  and  in  all  his  duties  there  is  something 
like  a  victory  to  be  gaine<l  and  he  can  say,  as  the  soldier  of 
duty; — Strike  me,  my  enemy ;  beat  upon  me,  O  thou  hail ! 
Mine  it  is  to  fulfdl  God's  statutes,  and  therein  I  make  you 
my  servants. 

Obligation  to  God  also,  imparts  zest  to  life,  by  giving  to 
our  actions  a  higher  import  and,  wherr  they  are  right,  a 
more  consciously  elevated  spirit.  The  most  serene,  the 
most  truly  godlike  enjoyment  open  to  man,  is  that  which 
he  receives  in  the  testimony  that  he  pleases  God  and  the 
moral  self-approbation  of  his  own  mind.  When  he  re- 
gards his  life  as  having  a  moral  quality,  over  and  above 
what  may  be  called  its  secular  and  economic  import ;  as 
having  to  do  with  the  holy  and  true  and  good,  and  as  be- 
mg,  in  that  highest  view,  a  worthy  and  upright  life;  then 
he  feels  a  joy  which,  if  it  be  human,  partakes  also  of  tl:e 
divine.  It  is  a  kind  of  joy  too  that  connects  in  his  mind 
with  thoughts  of  his  own  personal  perfection,  and  thia 
makes  it  even  a  sublime  thing  to  live.  In  the  mere  pru- 
'lential  life  of  man  as  an  earthly  creature,  in  his  cares,  do- 
ings, plans  and  pleasures,  there  is  no  resj)ect  to  any  results 
of  quality  in  the  person,  but  onl}^  to  what  he  ma}^  get,  oi 
Buffer,  or  be,  in  this  life.  The  idea  of  personal  peifection 
enters  only  with  that  of  obligation  to  God.  There  daiv'ns 
the  thought  of  a  divine  quality — the  moral,  the  good,  the 


216  OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE. 

holy ;  and  his  soul  rises  out  of  a  life  in  the  dust,  to  looh 
about  for  those  angelic  prospects,  which  are  suited  to  the 
pei'fect  glory  of  a  perfect  mind.  Now,  too,  enters  the  great 
thought  of  etertiity.  Obligation  is  a  word  that  open= 
eternity;  for  the  idea  itself  is  immutable,  and  therefore,  it 
must  needs  suggest  and  prove  an  immutable  state.  Now 
you  become  to  yourself  quite  another  and  different  crea- 
ture, a  denizen  of  eternity.  Breathing,  digestion,  growth, 
a  fine  show  and  a  titled  name, — none  of  these  have  much 
to  do  with  the  real  import  of  life.  You  are  living  on  the 
verge  of  great  perils,  meditating  perfection  after  the  style 
of  Grod,  and  in  j^our  every  thought  of  duty  coupling  the 
thought  also  of  immutable  good  and  glory.  If  you  aie  a 
politician,  a  tradesman,  a  man  of  toil,  or  of  letters,  you  are 
yet  in  none  of  these  a  mere  life-time  creature,  but,  in  all, 
you  are  doing  battle  for  eternity,  and  receiving  the  disci- 
pline of  an  angel.  Ennobled  by  such  a  thought,  how  is 
the  soul  armed  against  evil,  made  superior  to  passion^  and 
assisted  to  act  a  worthy  part  in  life's  scenes.  Now  you 
find  a  power  in  the  very  sublimity  of  your  ti'ial.  You 
surmount  your  narrow  infirmities,  you  exercise  yourself 
easily  in  great  virtues,  you  rise  into  a  lofty  and  glorious 
serenity  of  spirit,  all  because  the  inspiring  presence  of 
f'ternit}^  fills  your  life. 

In  this  aj'ticle  of  obligation  to  God,  you  are  set  also  in 
immediate  relation  to  God  himself;  and,  in  a  relation  so 
high,  every  thing  in  you  and  about  you  changes  its  im- 
port. The  world  is  no  more  a  mere  physical  fi^ame — it 
exists  rather  as  a  theatre  of  religion.  God  is  in  it,  every 
where,  training  his  creature  unto  himself.  He  is  clearly 
seen  by  the  things  that  are  made.  The  objects  of  science 
take  a  moral  import.     Human  history  becomes  Divine  hi* 


OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE.  217 

tcry,  tlio  history  of  Providence.  The  soul's  King  is  liere 
on  every  side  looking  in  upon  it,  encouraging  to  duty, 
and  smiling  upon  what  is  rightly  done.  The  intellect 
pierce-  through  the  shell  of  the  senses,  and  disceriis 
everywhere  God.  The  reason  is  encircled  by  mysteries 
vast  and  holy.  Imagination  soars  into  her  own  appro- 
priate realm  of  spirit  and  divinity,  and  all  the  faculties 
we  have  are  bathed  in  joy,  and  transfigured  in  the 
Creator's  light.  Set  thus  in  a  personal  relation  to  God, 
very  thing  changes  its  aspect  and  its  meaning. 

IIow  different  thus,  one  from  the  other,  is  the  world  of 
Foltaire,  and  the  world  of  Milton.  They  look,  if  you 
please,  upon  the  same  sun  and  consider  the  light  together. 
They  walk  the  same  shore  of  the  same  ocean,  tliey  medi- 
tate of  its  vastness  and  listen  to  the  chorus  of  its  waters. 
They  feel  the  gentleness  of  the  dew,  and  the  majesty  oi 
the  storm.  They  ask  what  is  the  meaning  of  man's  his- 
tory, what  is  birth,  life,  death ;  but  how  different  all,  are 
the  things  they  look  upon  and  the  thoughts  they  cherish. 
One  discovers  onl}^  the  clay  v/orld  and  its  material  beauties, 
flashes  into  shallow  brilliancy  and,  weaving  a  song  of  sur- 
faces, empties  himself  of  all  that  he  has  felt  or  seen.  But 
the  other,  back  of  all  and  through  all  visible  things,  has 
seen  spirit  and  divinity.  God  is  there,  giving  out  himself 
to  his  children,  and  all  the  furniture  of  life,  its  objects, 
Bcones  and  relations,  take  a  religious  meaning.  A  radiant 
glow  and  warmth  pervade  the  world.  The  meanings  arc 
inexhaustible.  Nothing  is  wearisome  or  dull,  or  mean ; 
for  nothiiig  can  be  that  is  dignified  by  God's  presence  and 
ordered  by  his  care  to  serve  a  religious  use. 

It  is  also  a  great  fact,  as  regards  a  due  impression  ol 
obligation  to  God,  and  of  what  is  conferred  in  it  that  u 

19 


218  OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE 

raises  and  tones  the  spiritual  emotions  of  obedient  s;)^]!-: 
into  a  key  of  sublimity,  whicli  is  the  completeness  of  tlieii 
joy,  For  ye  are  complete  in  him,  says  our  apostle,  well 
knowing  that  it  is  not  what  we  are  in  ourselves  that  makcf- 
our  completeness,  but  that  our  measure  of  being  is  full, 
only  when  we  come  unto  God  as  an  object  and  unite  our- 
selves to  the  good  and  great  emotions  of  God.  l^his  brings 
all  high  affinities  and  affections  into  play ;  for,  without 
God,  as  an  object  for  the  soul  to  admire,  love,  and  worship, 
it  were  only  an  incomplete  nature,  an  instrument  of  music 
without  a  medium  of  soand.  True,  the  cowardly  spirit  of 
guilt  finds  no  such  happiness  in  being  related  to  God,  anJ 
would  even  shun  the  thought  of  any  such  relation.  There 
fore  some  will  even  argue  against  religious  obligation,  be- 
cause it  introduces  fear,  and  fear,  they  say,  is  a  base  and 
uncomfortable  passion.  Rather  say  that  the  guilt  is  base, 
by  which  God  is  offended,  and  confidence  changed  to  fear. 
Neither  forget  that  one  thing  is  baser  for  the  guilty  even 
than  fear,  and  that  is  not  to  fear.  Besides,  it  is  a  part  of 
the  blessing  and  greatness  of  obligation  that  life  is  thus 
made  critical,  and  that,  obedience  is  thus  intensified  in  its 
joy  by  great  and  fearful  emotions.  The  more  critical, 
theicfore,  life  is,  without  shaking  our  courage,  the  closei 
are  v\  e  to  sublimity  of  feeling ;  for  in  all  sublimity  there 
is  an.  element  of  fear.  And  so  the  greatness  of  God,  the 
infinitude  of  his  nature,  the  majesty  of  his  word  and  will. 
vlie  puiity,  justice,  and  severe  perfection  of  his  character, -- 
all  these  bring  a  sense  of  fear  to  the  mind,  and,  precisely 
ou  this  account,  God,  as  an  object,  will  raise  every  good 
mind  to  a  perpetual  sublimity  of  feeling,  and  in  that  mar.- 
iier  fill  out  the  measure  of  its  possible  joy ;  for  joy  is  neve 
fall,  save  when  the  soul  quivers  with  awe,  and  the  beati^ 


OBLIGATION     A     PRIVILEGE.  2l§ 

Uide  itself  rises  to  a  pitch  of  fearfulness.  And  thus  it  is 
that  obligation  to  God  is  precisely  that  which  is  needed  to 
make  our  good  complete ;  for  this  only  sets  our  mind  be- 
foie  an  object  that  can  sufficiently  move  it  Before  Ilim, 
all  the  deep  and  powerful  emotions  that  lie  in  the  vicinity 
of  I'ear  are  waked  into  life  ;  every  cord  of  feeling  is  pitched 
to  its  highest  key  or  capacity,  and  the  soul  quivers  eternally 
in  the  sacred  awe  of  God  and  his  commandments ;  thrilled 
as  by  the  sound  of  many  waters,  or  the  roll  of  some  anthem 
that  stirs  the  li'amework  of  the  worlds. 

On  this  subject,  too,  experimental  proofs  may  be  cited, 
«uch  as  ought  to  leave  no  doubt  and  even  no  defect  of  im- 
pression. "Would  that  I  could  refer  you  each  to  his  o\^n 
experience ;  which  I  can  not,  because,  by  the  supposition, 
I  am  speaking  to  those  that  have  had  no  such  experience. 
And  yet  there  have  been  many  who,  without  any  specially 
religious  habit,  have  discovered  still  this  truth,  in  its  regu- 
lative and  otlierwise  beneficent  influence  on  their  life.  A 
few  years  before  his  death,  the  great  statesman- of  New 
England,  having  a  large  party  of  friends  dining  with  him 
at  Marshfield,  was  called  on  by  one  of  the  party,  as  they 
became  seated  at  the  table,  to  specify  what  one  thing  he 
had  met  with  in  his  life  which  had  done  most  for  him,  or 
contributed  most  effectually  to  the  success  of  his  personal 
history.  After  a  moment,  he  replied, — "The  most  fruitfu! 
and  elevating  influence  I  have  ever  seemed  to  meet  ha^i 
been  my  impression  of  obligation  to  God."  Precisely  in 
what  manner  the  benefit  was  supposed  to  accrue  I  am  not 
informed ;  probably,  however,  as  an  influence  that  raised 
the  pitch  of  his  mind,  gave  balance  and  clearness  to  his 
judgments,  and  set  him  on  a  moral  footing  in  his  ide.-xs 
and   principles,   such  as  certified   his  consciousness  as  a 


220  OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE. 

speaker,  and  added  insight  and  energy  to  liis  words 
Whatever  may  have  been  the  particular  benefits  of  which 
he  spoke,  the  scene,  as  described  by  one  present,  was  one 
most  impressive  in  its  dignity.  He  dropped  the  knife,  as 
if  turned  to  some  better  hospitality,  and  went  on  for  many 
minutes  in  a  discourse  on  his  theme,  unfolding  it  with 
wonderful  beauty  and  freshness.  The  guests  were  taken 
Dy  surprise,  and  sat  listening  with  intense  wonder  at  the 
exposition  he  was  making,  and  still  more  at  the  subdued, 
yet  lifted,  manner,  by  which  his  feeling  was  attested, — 
agreeing  generally,  as  they  fell  into  little  groups  afterward, 
that  he  probably  never  spoke  with  a  finer  eloquence. 
'  But  there  are  higher  and  holier  witnesses  and  a  great 
cloud  of  them,  whose  testimony  ought  to  be  more  convinc- 
ing. Thus,  if  you  will  but  open  the  word  of  God's  truth 
and  listen  to  the  songs  that  break  out  there,  under  God'9 
statutes ;  if  you  will  behold  the  good  of  past  ages  bending 
over  God's  law,  as  the  spring  of  their  sweetest  enjoy- 
ments, crying  each, — 0,  how  love  I  thy  law;  if  jou  will 
observe,  too,  what  enlargement  and  freedom  of  soul  they 
Snd  in  their  obedience,  and  how  they  look  upon  the  mere 
natural  life  of  the  flesh  as  bondage  in  comparison;  if 
you  w  ill  see  how  they  disarm  all  their  trials  and  danger? 
by  this  same  obedience ;  how  they  come  away  to  God  fron. 
the  scorching  sands  of  their  pilgrimage,  as  to  the  shadow 
Df  a  great  rock,  and  refresh  their  fainting  spirits  by  sing- 
ing the  statutes  of  the  Lord;  if  you  will  see  what  a  char- 
acter of  courage,  and  patience,  and  self-sacrifice  they 
receive ;  how  all  great  sentiments,  such  as  carry  their  own 
tlignity  and  blessing  with  them,  spring  up  in  the  rugged 
trials  of  duty  and  obedience  to  God ;  then,  last  of  all,  if  yo\i 
will  dare  to  break  over  the  confines  of  mortalitvascendirjg 


OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE.  221 

to  look  CD,  aa  spectator,  in  that  world  of  the  glorified, 
where  the  law  of  God  makes  full  illustration  of  its  imporl 
in  the  high  experiences  it  nourishes  and  the  benign  so.iety 
it  organizes,  you  will,  by  that  time  get,  I  am  sure,  au 
impression  of  the  bliss,  and  greatness,  and  glory  of  obli- 
gation to  God,  such  as  will  profoundly  instruct  you.  What 
seems  to  jon  now  to  be  a  most  unwelcome  constraint,  oi 
even  an  annoyance  to  your  peace,  you  will  thus  find 
reason,  after  all,  to  believe  is  only  the  best  and  dearest 
privilege  vouchsafed  you. 

Arresting  my  argument  here,  to  what,  in  conclusion, 
shall  I  more  fitly  draw  you  than  to  that  which  is,  in  truth, 
the  point  established,  viz.,  the  fact  that  it  is  only  religion, 
the  great  bond  of  love  and  duty  to  God,  that  makes  our 
existence  valuable  or  even  tolerable.  Without  this,  to  live 
were  only  to  graze.  We  could  not  guess  why  we  exist,  or 
care  to  exist  longer.  If  responsibility  to  God  is  felt  as  a 
constraint,  if  it  makes  you  uneasy  and  restive,  better  thia 
than  to  find  no  real  import  in  any  thing.  If  you  chafe,  it 
is  still  against  the  throne  of  order,  and  there  is  some  sense 
of  meaning  in  that.  If  God's  will  is  heavy  on  you,  the 
protection  it  extends  is  not.  If  the  circle  of  your  motion 
is  restricted,  it  is  only  that  the  goodness  of  Jehovah  is 
(Irawmg  itself  more  closely  round  you.  If  you  tremble, 
ii  is  r.ot  because  of  the  cold.  If  still  you  sigh  over  the 
cmr.dness  of  your  experience,  it  might  be  even  more 
empty ;  for  you  do,  at  least,  know  that  every  thing  in  life 
i?  now  become  great  and  momentous.  Ycu  can  not  make 
it  seem  either  futile  or  insignificant.  If  you  aie  onl}'-  a 
transgressor,  still  the  liveliest  thoughts  and  the  nc  c^st  thrill- 
iufif  truths  that  eyer  visit  your  mind  are  such  as  come  from 

m* 


222  OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE. 

the  throne  of  duty.  Eeh'gion  !  religion  ! — it  is  the  lighl 
of  tlie  world,  the  sun  of  its  warmth,  the  zest  of  all  its 
works.  Without  this  tlie  beauties  of  the  world  are  but 
splendid  gewgaws,  the  stars  of  heaven  glittering  orbs  of  ice 
and,  what  is  yet  far  worse  and  colder,  the  trials  of  exist- 
ence profitless  and  unadulterated  miseries. 

How  convincing,  how  appalling  a  proof  then  is  it,  of  some 
dire  disorder  and  depravation  in  mankind,  that  when  obli- 
gation to  God  is  the  spring  of  all  that  is  dearest,  noblest 
in  thought,  and  most  exhalted  in  experience,  we  are  yet 
compelled  to  ni-ge  it  on  them  by  so  many  entreaties,  and 
even  to  force  it  on  their  fears  by  God's  threatened  penal- 
ties. What  does  it  mean,  this  strange,  suicidal  aversion  to 
God's  statutes;  that  which  onght  to  be  our  song,  endurable 
only  as  we  are  held  to  it  by  terrors  and  penalties  of  fire  ? 
Nay,  worse,  if  possible,  yon  shall  even  hear,  not  seldom, 
the  men  that  say  they  love  God's  statutes,  and  who  thei-e- 
fore  ought  to  be  singing  on  their  way,  complaining  of  their 
dearth  and  dryness,  and  the  necessary  vanity  of  their  ex- 
perience. Let  these  latter  see  that  the  vanity  they  (com- 
plain of  is  the  cheat  of  their  own  self-devotion,  and  the 
littleness  of  their  own  empty  heart.  Let  them  pray  God 
to  enlarge  their  heart,  and  tlien  they  M'ill  run  the  way  ol 
God's  connnandments  wnth  true  liglitness  and  freedom. 
All  this  moping  ends  when  the  fire  of  duty  kindles.  As 
to  the  other  and  larger  class,  who  are  living,  confessedly, 
hi  no  terms  of  obligation  to  God,  let  them  see,  first  of  all, 
what  they  gain  by  it ;  how  the  load  of  life's  burden  cliafe^" 
thcra;  how  they  are  crushed,  crippled,  wearied,  confound- 
ed, when  they  try  to  get  their  songs  out  of  this  world  and  the 
dust  itself  of  their  pilgrimage  ;  then  go  to  God,  and  set 
their  life  on  the  footing  of   religion,  or  duty  to  God  ; 


OBLIGATION    A    TRIVILEGE  223 

wiiich  if  tliey  do,  it  shall  be  all  gladness  and  peace ;  for 
the  rhythm  of  all  God's  works  and  worlds  chimes  witU 
his  eternal  law  of  duty. 

Nothing  is  more  certain  or  clear,  than  that  human  soula 
are  made  for  law,  and  so  for  the  abode  of  God.  Without 
law  therefore,  without  God,  they  must  even  freeze  and  die. 
rience,  even  Christ  himself,  must  needs  establish  and 
sanctify  the  law ;  for  the  deliverance  and  liberty  he  comes 
to  bring  are  still  to  be  sought  only  in  obedience.  Hence- 
forth duty  is  the  brother  of  liberty,  and  both  rejoice  in  the 
common  motherhood  of  law.  And  just  here,  my  friends, 
is  the  secret  of  a  great  part  of  your  misery  and  of  the 
darkness  that  envelops  your  life.  Without  obligation 
you  have  no  light,  save  what  little  may  prick  through 
your  eyelids.  Only  he  that  keeps  God's  commandments 
walks  in  the  light.  The  moment  you  can  make  a  very 
simple  discovery,  viz.,  that  obligation  to  God  is  your  privi- 
lege and  is  not  imposed  as  a  burden,  your  experience  will 
teach  you  many  things, — that  duty  is  liberty,  that  repent- 
ance is  a  release  from  sorrow,  that  sacrifice  is  gain,  that 
humility  is  dignity,  that  the  truth  from  which  you  hide  is 
a  healing  element  that  bathes  your  disordered  life,  and  that 
even  the  penalties  and  terrors  of  God  are  the  artillery  only 
of  protection  to  his  realm. 

Such  and  no  other  is  the  glad  ministry  of  religion.  Say 
not,  when  we  come  to  you  tendering  its  gifts,  as  we  do  to- 
day, that  you  are  not  readj^,  that  you  are  not  sufficiently 
racked  by  remorse  and  guilty  conviction,  that  you  have 
spent,  as  j-et,  no  sorrowing  days  or  sleepless  nights, — what 
can  these  do  for  you?  God  wants  none  of  these;  he  only 
wants  you  to  accept  him  as  your  privilege.  When  he  calls 
you  to  repentance  and  niw  obedience,  this  is  what  be 


J24:  OBLIGATION    A    PRIVILEGE 

•neans ;  that  you  quit  jour  madness,  cease  to  gore  your 
self  by  your  sins,  come  to  your  right  mind,  and  accept,  as 
a  privilege,  his  good,  eternal  law.  Giving  thus  your  life 
to  duty,  let  it,  from  this  time  forth,  suffuse  alike  your  trial/ 
and  enjoyments  with  its  own  pure  gladness,  and  let  th3 
self-approving  dignity  and  greatness  of  a  right  mind  b'3 
gilded — visibly  and  consciously  gilded — ^by  the  smiL.- 
of  God.  And,  as  the  good  and  great  society  of  the 
blessed  is  to  be  settled  in  this  glorious  harmony  of  law^ 
and  the  statutes  of  the  Lord  are  to  be  the  song  of  their 
consolidated  joy  and  rest,  sing  them  also  here;  and,  in  ali 
life's  changes,  in  the  dark  days  and  the  bright,  in  sorrow 
and  patience  and  wrong,  in  successes  and  hopes  and  con- 
summated labors, — everywhere  adhere  to  this,  and  have  it 
as  the  strength  of  your  days,  that  your  obligations  to  God 
are  tlie  best  ard  highest  privilege  he  gives  yon 


V  I  r 
All. 

HAITINESS  AND  JOY. 

JOHX  XV.  11. — "  These  things  have  I  spoken  unto  yon,  that 
mij  joy  might  remain  in  you^  and  that  your  py  might  hefulV 

Christ  enters  the  world,  bringing  joy; — Good  lidinga 
of  great  joy,  cry  the  angels,  which  shall  be  to  all  people. 
So  now  he  leaves  it,  bestowing  his  gospel  as  a  gift  of  joy,— 
These  things  have  I  spoken  unto  you,  that  my  joy  might 
remain  in  you  and  that  your  joy  might  be  full.  This  test- 
ament of  his  joy  he  also  renews  in  his  parting  prayer. 
And  now  come  I  to  thee,  and  these  things  I  speak  in  the 
world,  that  they  might  have  my  joy  fulfilled  in  them.selves. 
"Man  of  sorrows"  though  we  call  him,  still  he  counts 
himself  the  man  of  joy. 

Would  that  I  could  bring  you  into  his  meaning,  when 
he  thus  speaks,  and  assist  you  to  realize  the  unspeakable 
import  which  it  has  to  him.  It  is  an  impression  deeply 
rooted  in  the  minds  of  men  that  the  christian  life  is  a  life 
of  constraint,  hardship,  loss,  penance,  and  comparative 
suffering ;  Christ,  you  perceive,  has  no  such  conception  of 
it,  and  no  such  conception  is  true.  Contrary,  to  this,  ] 
shall  undertake  to  show  that  it  is  a  life  of  true  joy,  the  pro 
fcundtst  a7id  only  real  joy  attainahh—not  a  merely  future  joy, 
to  hi  received  hereafter,  as  the  reward  of  a  painful  and  sad  lift 
h^oe,  hid  a  vresent,  living,  and  completely  full  joy,  unfolded  iu 
the  soul  of  every  man  ivliose  fidelity  and  constancy  permit  hin) 
to  receive  it. 


226  HAPPINESS    AST)    JOY 

To  clear  this  truth  and  show  it  forth,  in  the  proper  light 
of  evidence,  it  is  necessary,  fij-st  of  all,  to  exhibit  a  mis 
take  which  clouda  the  judgments,  almost  or  quite  univers- 
ally, of  those  who  are  not  in  tnc  secret  of  the  christian  joy, 
as  revealed  to  a  religious  expej'ienco.  It  is  the  mistake  of 
not  distinguishing  between  happiness  and  joy,  or  of  suj  ■ 
posing  them  to  be  really  one  and  the  same  thing.  It  is^ 
the  mistake,  indeed,  not  merely  of  their  judgment,  but  of 
their  practice ;  for  they  all  go  after  happiness  without  sc 
much  as  a  thought,  more  commonly,  of  any  thing  higher 
or  better.  Happiness,  they  assume,  and  in  their  practice 
say,  is  the  real  joy  of  existence,  beyond  which  and  differ- 
ent from  v/hich  there  is,  in  kind,  no  other. 

Now  there  is  even  a  distinction  of  kind  between  the  two, 
a  distinction  beautifully  represented  in  the  words  them- 
selves. Thus  happiness,  according  to  the  original  use  of 
che  term,  is  that  which  happens,  or  comes  to  one  by  a  hap, 
that  is,  by  an  outward  befalling,  or  favorable  condition. 
Some  good  is  conceived,  out  of  the  soul,  which  comes  to  it 
as  a  happy  visitation,  stirring  in  the  receiver  a  pleasant 
excitement.  It  is  what  money  yields,  or  will  buy  ;  dress, 
equipage,  fashion,  luxuries  of  the  table ;  or  it  is  settlement 
in  life,  independence,  love,  applause,  admiration,  honoi", 
glorv,  or  the  more  conventional  and  public  benefits  of 
rank,  political  standing,  victory,  power.  All  these  siii  a 
delight  in  the  soul,  which  is  not  of  the  soul,  or  its  quality, 
luU  from  without.  Hence  they  are  looked  upon  a?  hap- 
[M.Miing  to  the  soul  and,  in  that  sense,  create  happiness. 
We  have  another  word  from  the  Latins,  which  very  nearlj; 
oorresjjoiids  with  this  from  the  Saxons;  viz.,  fortune.  For, 
wrhatever  befell  the  soul,  or  came  to  it  bringing  it  plea.sure 
vas  considered  to  be  its  good  chance,  and  was  called  frr 


HAPPINESS    AND    JOY.  22? 

tuiiate.  I  suppose,  indeed,  that  there  is  no  langnuige  in  the. 
world  that  does  not  contain  this  idea,  just  becaase  all  man- 
kind are  after  benefits  that  will  stir  pleasure  in  the  soul, 
without  regard  to  its  quality ;  after  happiness  aftei 
fortune. 

Bat  j.^y  diflers  from  this,  as  being  of  the  soul  itself, 
originatmg  in  its  qucality.  And  this  appears  in  the  original 
form  of  the  word;  which,  instead  of  suggesting  a  hap^ 
literally  denotes  a  leap^  or  spring.  Here  again  also  the  Latina 
had  exalt,  which  literally  means  a  leaping  forth.  The  radi- 
cal idea  then  of  joy  is  this ;  that  the  soul  is  in  such  ordei 
and  beautiful  harmony,  has  such  springs  of  life  opened  in 
its  own  blessed  virtues,  that  it  pours  forth  a  sovereign  joy 
from  within.  The  motion  is  outward  and  not  toward,  as  we 
conceive  it  to  be  in  happiness.  It  is  not  the  bliss  of  con- 
dition, but  of  character.  There  is,  in  this,  a  well-spring 
of  triumphant,  sovereign  good,  and  the  soul  is  able  thus  to 
pour  out  rivers  of  joy  into  the  deserts  of  outward  experi- 
ence. It  has  a  light  in  its  own  luminous  center,  where 
God  is,  that  gilds  the  darkest  nights  of  external  adversity, 
a  music  charming  all  the  stormy  discords  of  outward  injury 
and  pain  into  beats  of  rhythm,  and  melodies  of  peace. 

I  ought,  perhaps,  to  say  that  the  original  distinction  be- 
tween these  two  words,  thus  sharply  defined,  is  not  alwayij 
regarded ;  I  have  traced  the  distinction  only  for  the  con- 
venience of  my  present  subject,  and  not  because  the  words 
are  always  used,  or  must  be,  in  this  manner.  In  their 
secondary  uses,  words  are  often  applied  more  loosely,  and 
so  it  has  fldlcn  out  with  these,  which  are  used,  by  the 
common  class  of  writers  indiscriminately,  one  for  the  other 
Still  it  will  be  seen  that  one  of  our  English  poets,  Mr.  Cole 
ridge,  distinguished  always  for  the  exactness  of  his  lau 


228  HAPPINESS    AND    JOY. 

gnage,  uses  them  both  in  immediate  connection,  so  as  to 
preserve  their  exact  distinction,  without  any  appai  ent  de- 
sign to  do  so,  or  consciousness  of  tlie  fact.  Addressing  a 
nol)le  Christian  lady,  lie  gives  his  conception  of  joy,  as  an 
all -transforming,  all-victorious  power,  in  virtuous  souls 
in  terms  like  these: — 

"  O,  pure  of  heart,  thou  needst  not  ask  of  me, 
What  this  strong  music  in  the  soul  may  be, — 
What  and  wherein  it  doth  exist, 
This  hght,  this  glory,  this  fair  luminous  mist, 
This  beautiful  and  beauty-making  power. 
Joy,  virtuous  lady,  joy  that  ne'er  was  given. 
Save  to  the  pure  and  in  their  purest  hour, 
Life  and  life's  effluence,  cloud  at  once  and  shower, 
Joy,  lady,  is  the  spirit  and  the  power 
That  wedding  nature  to  us  gives  in  dower 
A  new  earth  and  new  heaven, — 

We  in  ourselves  rejoice." 

Immediately  after,  without  auj  thought  of  drawing  the 
contrast,  he  speaks  of  his  own  folly,  with  regret,  because 
he  was  caught  by  the  temptations  of  fortune  and  now  en- 
dures the  bitter  penalty. 

"  Fancy  made  me  dreams  of  happiness; 
For  hope  grew  round  me  like  the  twining  vine. 
And  fruits  and  foliage,  n.ot  my  oi07i^  seemed  mine." 

The  picture  he  draws  for  himself  is  the  picture,  alas !  of 
the  general  folly  of  mankind.  Their  "  fancy  makes  them 
dreams  of  happiness  , "  piomising  to  bless  them  in  what 
may  be  gathered  "  round  "  them  in  "  fruits  and  foliage  not 
their  own  ;  "  that  is,  not  of  themselves  but  external.  All 
good,  they  fancy,  is  in  condition,  not  in  character.  They 
think  of  happiness,  go  after  happiness,  and  have,  alas. 
how  generally,  no  thought  of  joy. 


HAPPINESS    AND    JOY  220 

And  yjt  we  Lave  many  and  various  symbols  of  joy 
about  us,  from  wbicb  we  miglit  well  enough  take  the  hint^ 
as  it  would  seem,  of  some  possible  felicity  that  is  freer  and 
higher  in  quality  than  the  mere  pleasures  of  fortune,  or 
condition.  The  sportive  cbildren,  too  full  of  physical  life 
to  be  able  even  to  restrain  their  activity;  the  birds  of  the 
morning  pouring  out  their  music  simply  because  it  is  in 
tliem,  ought  to  suggest  the  possibility  of  some  free,  manly 
joy  that  is  nobler  than  happiness.  Precisely  this  too  we 
have  been  permitted,  thank  God,  to  look  upon,  in  the 
examples  of  goodness,  and  to  hear  in  the  report  of  history : 
for  history  is  holding  up  her  holy  examples  ever  before  us, 
showing  us  the  saints  of  God  singing  out  their  joy  togetheT 
in  caves  and  dens  of  the  earth  at  dead  of  night,  showing 
too  the  souls  of  her  martyrs  issuing,  with  a  shout,  from  the 
fires  that  crisp  their  bodies. 

Again,  it  is  necessary,  in  order  to  a  right  conception  oi 
the  meaning  of  christian  joy,  as  now  defined,  that  we  dis- 
cover how  to  dispose  of  certain  facts,  or  incidents,  which 
commonly  pi-oduce  a  contrary  impression. 

Thus,  when  the  Saviour  bequeaths  his  joy  to  us,  and 
prays  to  have  it  fulfilled  in  us,  it  will  naturally  be  remem- 
bered that  he  lives  a  persecuted  and  abused  life,  that  he 
passes  through  an  agony  to  his  death,  and  dies  in  a  man- 
ner most  of  all  ignominious  and  afflictive.  Where  then  is 
the  joy  of  which  he  speaks,  or  which  he  prays  to  have  be- 
stowed upon  us?  Are  burdens,  toils,  sorrows,  persecu- 
tions, crucifixions  joys? 

To  this  I  answer  that  they  may,  in  one  view,  be  such, 
and  in  his  case  actually  were.  He  was  a  truly  afflicted 
being,  a  man  of  sorrows  in  the  matter  of  happiness;  that 
Is,  in  the  outward  condition,  or  befalling  of  his  earthl} 

20 


230  HAPPINESS    AND    JOY, 

state,'  Jtill  he  bad  ever  within  a  joj,  a  centei  of  lest,  a 
consciousness  of  purity  and  harmony,  a  spring  of  good,  an 
internal  fullness  which,  was  perfectly  sufficient.  And,  in- 
deed^ we  may  call  it  one  of  tlie  highest  points  of  snblimity 
in  his  life,  that  he  reveals  the  essentially  victorious  powci 
of  joy  in  the  divine  nature  itself;  for  God,  in  the  contra- 
di(?tion  of  sinners,  in  the  wj'ongs,  disorders,  ungrateful  re- 
tarns,  and  disgusting  miseries  of  his  sinful  subjects,  suffers 
a  degree  of  abhorrence  and  pain  that  may  properly  be 
called  so  much  of  unhappiness ;  and  he  would  even  be  an 
unhappy  being  were  it  not  that  the  love,  and  patience,  ard 
redeeming  tenderness  he  pours  into  their  bosom,  are  to 
him  a  welling  up  eternally  of  conscious  joy ;— joy  the  more 
sublime,  because  of  its  inherent  and  victorious  excellence 
And  exactly  so  he  represents  himself,  in  the  incarnate  per- 
son of  Christ.  In  his  parable  of  the  shepherd,  calling  in 
his  neighbors  to  rejoice  with  him  over  the  sheep  he  has 
found,  he  opens  the  secret  consciousness  of  joy  he  feels 
himself,  as  being  that  shepherd.  His  manner  too  was 
sometimes  that  of  exultation  even,  as  when  the  evangelist, 
noticing  his  deep  inward  joy  of  heart,  says, — In  that  hour 
Jesus  rejoiced  in  spirit.  And  then,  how  much  does  it  sig- 
nify, when  coming  to  the  close  of  his  career,  and  just  about 
to  finish  it  by  a  suffering  death,  he  says,  glancing  back- 
ward in  thought  over  all  he  has  experienced, — "My  joy" — 
bequeathing  it  to  his  disciples,  as  the  dearest  legacy  he  can 
give,  the  best,  last  wish  he  is  able  to  express!  What  then 
d^cB  it  sign'fy  of  real  privation,  or  loss,  to  become  his 
follower ! 

But  it  requires,  you  will  say,  the  admission  of  serious 
and  indeed  of  painful  thought  in  us  to  begin  such  a  life, 
the  solemn  review  of  our  character,  the  diacoyerj'  oJ  o\u 


HAPPINESS    AND    JOF.  23J 

tin,  the  sense  of  our  shame  and  bondage;  an<i  our  misorabh 
lost  condition  under  it ;  sorrow,  repentance,  self-n.-nuncia- 
tion,  the  loss  of  all  things.  The  whole  pros^^ect,  in  short, 
?7-]iich  is  opened,  in  coming  to  Christ,  is  painfully  forbid- 
ding. The  gospel  even  requires  of  us,  in  so  many  words 
tc  GUI  off  right  hands,  and  pluck  out  right  eyes,  and  deny 
and  crucify  oursehres,  and  be  poor  in  spirit,  and  pasa 
througn  life  under  a  cross.  Where  then  is  the  place 
for  joy?   how  can  the  christian   life  be  called  a  life  of 

It  is  not,  I  answer,  in  these  things,  taken  simply  by 
themselves.  But  receive  an  illustration :  consider,  a  mo- 
ment, what  labors,  cares,  self-denials,  restrictions  of  free- 
dom,  limitations  of  present  pleasure,  all  men  have  to  sufPer 
m  the  way  of  what  is  called  success ;  what  application  the 
scliolar  must  undergo  to  win  the  distinctions  of  genius, 
what  dangers  and  privations  the  hero  must  encounter  to 
jommand  the  honors  of  victory.  Are  all  these  made  un- 
happy because  of  the  losses  they  are  obliged  to  make? 
Are  they  not  rather  raised  in  feeling  on  this  very  account  'i 
If  they  all  gained  their  precise  point,  or  standing  of  suc- 
cess, by  mere  fortune,  as  by  a  ticket  in  some  lottery,  would 
the  sacrifices  and  labors,  thus  avoided,  be  a  clear  saving, 
or  addition  to  their  happiness?  Contrary  to  this,  it 
would  render  their  suc3esses  almost  or  quite  bari-en  of 
eatisfaction. 

But  how  is  this  ?  There  are  so  many  hard  burdens  and 
[)ainful  losses,  or  sacrifices,  and  yet  they  subtract  nothing, 
we  say,  but  rather  add  to  the  real  amount  cf  enjoyment, 
in  the  successes  gained  by  endurance  and  industry  There 
appears  to  be  something  bordering  on  contradiction  liere, 
how  shall  we  solve  it? 


282  HAPPINESS    AND    JOT. 

Tlie  solution  is  easy,  viz.,  that  the  sacrifice  made  is  a 
sacrifice  of  happiness,  a  sacrifice  of  ease,  pleasure,  cointorl 
of  condition ;  and  the  gain  made  is  a  gain  of  something 
more  ennobling  ana  more  consciously  akin  to  greatness,  a 
gain  tliat  partakes,  as  far  as  any  outward  success  can  the 
nature  of  joy.  The  man  of  industry  and  enterprise,  the 
scholar,  the  statesman,  the  hero,  says  within  himself  these 
are  not  gifts  of  fortune  to  me,  they  are  my  conquests , 
tokens  of  my  patience,  economy,  application,  fortitude,  in- 
tegrity. In  them  his  soul  is  elevated  from  within,  lie 
has  a  higher  consciousness,  and  a  felicity,  of  course,  that 
partakes,  in  some  remote  degree,  of  the  sublime  nature  of 
joy.  It  is  not  condition,  or  things  about  him,  making  him 
happy,  but  it  is  the  fire  kindling  within,  the  soul  awaking 
to  joy  as  a  creative  and  victorious  energy ;  and,  in  this 
view,  it  is  a  fiint  realization,  on  the  footing  of  a  mere 
worldly  life,  of  the  immense  superiority  of  joy  to  happi 
ness.  And  it  will  be  found,  accordingly,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
that  men,  even  worldly  men,  despise  and  nauseate  mere 
happiness,  if  we  hold  the  word  to  its  strictest  and  most 
proper  meaning.  Using  it  more  loosely,  they  fancy,  and 
will  say,  that  they  are  after  happiness.  Still  the  instinct 
of  a  higher  life  is  in  them  and  they  really  despise  what 
they  do  not  conquer.  None  but  the  tamest  and  most 
abject  will  sit  down  to  be  nursed  by  fortune.  All  that 
have  any  real  manhood  we  see  cutting  their  way  through 
severities  and  toils,  that  promise  achievement,  or  a  sense 
of  victory.  In  such  a  truth,  meeting  your  eyes  on  every 
hand,  you  may  see  how  it  is  possible  for  the  repentances, 
Bacrifices,  self-denials,  and  labors  of  the  christian  life,  te 
issue  in  joy.  If  Christ  requires  you  literally  to  renounc*i 
all  happiness,  all  good  of  condition,  nothing  is  more  clea) 


HAPPINESS    AXD    JOY.  283 

than  the  possibility  that  even  this  may  issue  ia  a  most 
3omplete  and  sovereign  joy. 

Or  take  an  illustration,  somewhat  ciifierent,  of  the  nature 
of  these  christian  struggles  and  sacrifices.  A  great  and 
noble  spirit,  some  archangel  or  prince  of  the  sky,  who  is 
highest  in  his  mold  of  all  the  forms  of  created  being,  hag 
somehow  come  under  a  conscious  respect,  we  will  suppose, 
to  condition  ;  fill  en  out  of  joy  and  become  a  lover  of  for- 
tune or  happiness.  He  finds  that  he  is  looking  for  good 
only  in  objects  round  him,  and  in  things  that  imply  no 
dignity  of  soul,  or  merit  of  quality  in  him ;  shows  and 
equipages,  liveries,  social  rank,  things  that  please  his  ap 
petite,  or  his  lusts.  He  finds  that  he  is  living  for  these, 
a7jd  really  makes  nothing  of  any  higher  good;  living  aa 
?.f  there  were  no  fountains  of  good  to  be  opened  within ; 
or  as  if,  being  only  a  vegetable,  there  could  be  nothing  for 
him  better  than  just  to  feel  what  the  rain,  and  sun,  and  soil 
of  outward  condition  give  him  to  feel.  He  blushes  at  the 
discovery,  and  drops  his  head.  And,  as  he  begins  to  weep, 
a  thought  of  fire  strikes  out  from  his  immortality,  and  lie 
says, — No,  it  shall  not  be.  God  made  me,  not  to  be  under 
and  subject  to  things  about  me,  or  to  ask  my  happiness  at 
their  hands.  Rather  was  it  for  me  to  be  above  all  crea- 
tures, as  I  was  before  them  in  order;  having  my  joy  in 
the  greatness  of  my  spirit,  and  the  victorious  freedom  and 
fullness  of  my  life.  O,  I  hear  the  call  of  my  God  I  J 
will  arise  and  be  what  he  commands  me  to  be.  These 
felicities  of  fortune  shall  tempt  me  and  humble  me  no 
more,     I  cast  them  off,  I  renounce  them  forever! 

In  the  execution,  then,  of  such  a  purpose,  you  see  him 
go  t:o  his  work.  That  he  may  clear  himself  of  the  domio' 
ion  of  things,  he  gives  up  all  his  out^\ard  splendors  o/ 

20* 


234  HAPPINESS    AND    JOY. 

siaie  and  sh  )w,  makes  a  loss  of  all  his  resources  and  even 
comforts,  and,  finding  his  soul  atill  looking  covertly  aftei 
the  goods  she  has  lost,  he  goes  to  frequent  voluntary  fast- 
ing, that  be  may  clear  himself  yet  more  effectually  from 
his  bondage.  He  is  not  yet  free.  He  finds  the  pampered 
spirit  of  self-indulgence  still  asking  foi  ease,  and  indispos- 
ing him  to  victory.  Then  he  asks  for  labor,  seeks  out 
something  to  be  done,  asks  it  of  his  God  to  give  him  some 
hard  service,  nay  a  warfare,  if  he  will,  that  his  soul  may 
fight  herself  clear. 

Now,  the  question  I  have  to  ask  is  this, — when  you  look 
upon  the  sacrifices  and  struggles  of  this  great  being,  his 
losses,  repentances,  self-mortifications,  works  and  warftires, 
does  it  seem  to  you  that  he  is  growing  miserable  under 
them?  Do  you  not  see  how  his  consciousness  rises  in  ele- 
vation, as  he  clears  himself  of  his  humiliating  bondage ; 
how  his  soul  finds  springs  of  joy  opening  in  herself,  as  the 
good  of  condition  falls  off"  and  perishes ;  how  every  losa 
disencumbers  him  ;  how  every  toil,  and  fasting,  and  fight, 
as  it  clears  him  more  of  the  notion  or  thought  of  happi- 
ness, lifts  him  into  a  jo}^  as  much  more  ennobled  as  it  is 
more  sovereign  ?  Nay,  you  can  hardly  look  on,  as  you  see 
liim  fight  his  holy  purjDOse  through,  without  being  kindled 
and  exalted  in  feeling  yourself  by  the  sublimity  of  his 
warfare. 

But,  exactly  this  is  the  true  conception  of  the  sacrifices: 
j'equircd  in  the  christian  life.  They  are  all  required  to 
emancipate  the  soul  and  raise  it  above  its  servile  depend- 
ence on  condition.  They  are  losses  of  mere  happiness, 
and  for  just  that  reason  they  are  preparations  of  joy. 

Having  disposed,  in  this  manner,  of  what  may  seem  tc 
bo  facts  opposed,  or  adverse  to  the  supposition  that  cbris 


HAPPINESS    AND     JOY.  2'6C 

tian  sacrifice  and  piety  support  a  victorious  joj ,  I  will  uot;* 
undertake  to  show  the  positive  reality  itself. 

And  here  we  notice,  first  of  all,  the  fiict  that,  in  a  lifo. 
of  selfishness  and  sin,  there  is  a  well-spring  of  misery, 
which  is  now  taken  away.  No  matter  what,  or  howe\ei 
fortunate,  the  external  condition  of  an  unbelieving,  evil 
iiiijid,  there  is  yet  a  disturbance,  a  bitterness,  a  sorrow 
within,  too  strong  to  be  mastered  by  any  outward  felicity. 
The  whole  internal  nature  is  in  a  state  of  discord.  The 
understanding,  conscience,  will,  affections,  appetites,  im- 
arinations,  make  a  battle-field  of  the  breast,  and  the  un- 
happy  subject  is  rasped,  irritated,  bittered,  filled  with 
fear,  shcimed  by  self-reproaches,  stung  by  guilty  convic- 
tions, gnawed  by  remoi'se,  jealous,  envious,  hateful,  lust- 
fid,  discontented,  fretful,  living  always  under  a  sky  in 
M^hich  some  kind  of  storm  is  raging.  And  this  discord  ia 
the  misery,  the  hell  of  sin.  0,  if  men  had  only  some  con- 
trary experience  of  the  heavenly  peace,  how  great  this 
misery  would  seem.  And  yet  the}^  know  it  not,  they  even- 
dare  to  imagine,  sometimes,  that  they  are  happy ;  just  be- 
cause their  experience  has  brought  no  contrasts,  to  reveal 
the  torment  they  suffer.  Still  they  break  out  notwith- 
standing, now  and  then,  wnth  impatience,  and  vent  their 
uneasiness  in  complaints  that  show  how  poorly  they  get 
on.  They  even  testify,  in  words,  that  life  is  a  burden.  It 
is  a  burden,  a  much  heavier  and  more  galling  burden  than 
they  know,  and  will  be,  even  though  they  have  all  gifts  of 
fortune,  all  honors  and  applauses  crowded  upon  them,  to 
make  them  happy.  How  rnuch  then  does  it  signify,  that 
Christ  takes  away  this  burden,  restores  this  discord.  Foi 
Christ  is  the  embodied  harmony  of  God,  and  he  that  re 
eeives  hini  =.eitlec>  into  harmony  with  him.     My  peace  I 


2i>6  HAPPINEt.S     A.ND    JOY 

^V3  r.nt')  yoii,  is  tlie  Saviour's  word,  and  tliis  peace  ol 
Christ  is  tlie  equanimity,  dignity,  iirmness,  serenity,  wlucli 
made  his  outwardly  afflicted  life  appear  to  flow  in  a  calmness 
so  nearly  sublime.  Bring  any  most  fortunate  of  worldly 
minds  into  this  peace,  and  the  mere  negative  power  of  it, 
in  quelling  the  soul's  discords,  would  even  seem  to  be  a 
kind  of  translation.  Just  to  exterminate  the  evii  of  the 
mind,  and  clear  the  sovereign  hell  which  sin  creates  in  it, 
would  suffice  to  make  a  seeming  paradise. 

Besides  there  is  a  fact  more  positive, — the  soul  is  such  a 
nature  that,  no  sooner  is  it  set  in  peace  with  itself  than 
it  becomes  2,n  instrument  in  tune,  a  living  instrument,  dis- 
coursing heavenly  music  in  its  thoughts,  and  chanting 
melodies  of  bliss,  even  in  its  dreams.  We  may  even  say, 
apart  from  all  declamation,  for  such  is  its  nature,  that  when 
a  soul  is  in  this  harmony,  no  fires  of  calamity,  no  pains 
of  outward  torment  can,  for  one  moment,  break  the  sove- 
reign spell  of  its  joy.  It  will  turn  the  fires  to  freshening 
gales,  and  the  pains  to  sweet  instigations  of  love  and 
blessing. 

Thus  much  we  say,  looking  only  at  the  soul's  nature,  its 
necessary  distraction  under  the  power  of  evil,  its  necessar_y 
blessedness  in  the  harmony  of  rectitude.  But  we  must 
ascend  to  a  plane  that  is  higher,  and  consider,  more  directly, 
what  pertains  to  its  religious  nature.  Little  conceptior 
have  we  of  its  joy,  or  capacities  of  joy,  till  we  see  it  estab- 
lished in  Grod.  The  christian  soul  is  one  that  has  come 
unto  God,  and  rested  in  the  peace  of  God.  It  dares  to  call 
him  Father,  without  any  sense  of  daring.  It  is  in  sach 
oonfidence  toward  him,  that  it  even  partakes  His  confidence 
m  Hims^'lf  It  is  strong  with  his  strength,  having  all  its 
facr.ltiCfc'  in  n  glorious  jilav  of  energy.     It  endures  hard 


HArriNESS    AND    JOY.  237 

aess  with  facility.  It  turns  adversity  into  j)c;ace,  for  it  sees 
a  friendly  hand  ministering  only  good  in  what  it  softers 
In  dark  times  it  is  never  anxious ;  for  God  is  its  tr  jst  and 
God  will  suffer  no  harm  to  beflill  it.  Having  the  testimou}! 
within  that  it  pleases  God,  it  approves  itself  in  the  holy 
Brnile  of  God,  that  consciously  rests  upon  it.  Divinely 
g-aided,  walking  in  the  Spirit,  it  is  raised  by  a  kind  of  inspir- 
ation. It  sees  God  and  knows  him  by  an  immediate  and 
ever-present  knowledge ;  according  even  to  the  promise, — 
Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God.  It 
is  consciously  ennobled,  in  this  manner,  by  the  proximity 
of  God,  expanded  in  volume,  raised  in  greatness,  thrilled 
by  the  eternal  sublimities  of  God's  deep  nature  and 
counsel.  To  a  mind  thus  tempered,  fortune  can  add  little, 
and  as  little  take  awa}'-.  Nothing  can  reach  or,  at  least, 
break  down  a  soul  established  in  this  lofty  consciousness. 
It  partakes  a  divine  nature,  it  is  become  a  kind  of  divine 
creature,  and  the  clouds  that  overcast  the  sky  of  other 
men,  sail  under  it.  The  hail  that  beats  other  mea  to  the 
ground,  the  reproaches,  execrations,  conspiracies,  and  lies, 
under  which  other  men  are  cowed,  can  not  hail  upward, 
and  therefore  can  nut  reach  the  night  of  this  divine  confi- 
dence. Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall  revile  you,  and  per- 
secute 3^ou,  and  say  all  manner  of  evil  against  you  falsely 
for  my  sake.  Rejoice  and  be  exceeding  glad.  Such  is  the 
joy  Christ  bequeathed  to  his  followers;  such  the  good 
tidings  of  great  joy  that  he  brought  into  the  world. 

There  is  also,  in  the  christian  type  of  character,  as  re- 
lated to  God,  a  peculiarity  which  needs,  in  this  connection, 
to  be  mentioned  by  itself.  It  is  a  character,  rooted  in  the 
divine  love,  and  in  that  view  is  a  sovereign  bliss  welling 
vip  from  w'thin  ;  able  thus  to  triumph  and  sing,  independ- 


23S  aA.PPINESS    AND    JOY. 

ent  of  all  circumstance  and  condition.  A  human  soul  can 
love  every  body,  in  despite  of  every  hindrance,  and  b;y 
that  love,  can  bring  every  body  into  its  enjoyment,  No 
power  is  strong  enough  to  forbid  tliis  act  of  love,  none 
therefore  strong  enough  to  conquer  the  joy  of  love ;  for 
whoever  is  loved,  even  though  it  be  an  enemy,  is  and  must 
be  enjoy od.  Besides  it  is  a  peculiarity  of  love  that  it  takes 
possession  of  its  neighbor's  riches  and  successes,  and  makes 
thsm  its  own.  Loving  him,  it  loves  all  that  he  has  for 
his  sake,  whether  he  be  friend  or  enemy ;  enjoys  his  com- 
forts, looks  on  his  prospects  and  all  the  beauties  of  his 
gardens  and  fields,  with  a  })leasure  as  real  as  if  they  were 
legally  its  own.  Love,  in  fact,  overleaps  all  titles  of  law, 
and  becomes  a  kind  of  universal  owner;  appropriates  all 
wealth,  and  beauty,  and  blessing  to  itself,  and  enters  into 
the  full  enjoyment.  It  understands  the  declaration  well, — 
for  all  things  are  yours.  Having  such  resources  of  joy  iri 
its  own  nature,  the  word  that  signifies  love^  in  the  original 
of  the  New  Testament,  is  radically  one  with  that  which 
signifies  joy.  According  to  the  family  registers  of  thai 
language,  they  are  twins  of  the  same  birth.  Love  is  joy, 
and  all  true  joy  is  love, — they  can  not  be  separated.  And 
Christ  is  an  exhibition  to  us  of  this  fact  in  his  own  person, 
a  revelation  of  God's  eternal  joy  as  being  a  revelation  A 
God's  eternal  love ;  coming  down  thus  to  utter  in  our  ears 
this  glorious  call,  as  a  voice  sounding  out  from  God's  eter- 
nity,— Enter  ve  into  the  joy  of  your  Lord.  He  finds  ua 
hunting  after  condition  ;  ihe  low  and  questionable  felicity 
of  happiness.  He  says,  behold  my  poverty,  look  on  my 
burden  of  contempt,  take  the  guage  of  my  labors,  note  the 
insults  and  wrongs  of  my  enemies,  watch  with  me  in  my 
•■igony,  follow  me  to  my  cross.      This,  0,  mortal !    this 


HAPPJNESS    AND    JD^.  239 

worshipper  of  happiness!  is  my  joy.  I  give  it  to  remain 
in  you,  that  your  joy,  as  mine,  might  be  full.  Enter  into 
this  love  as  God  made  you  to  love,  love  with  me  your 
enemies,  labor  and  pray  with  me  for  their  recovery  to 
(jod,  make  my  cause  your  cause,  take  up  my  cross  a^'^d 
follow  me,  and  then,  in  the  loss  of  all  things,  you  snail 
know  that  love  is  the  sovereignty  of  good,  the  highest 
throne  of  sufficiency  to  which  any  being,  created  or  uncre- 
ated, can  ascend.  Coming  up  into  love,  you  clear  all  de- 
pendence of  condition,  you  ascend  into  the  very  joy  of 
God,  and  this  is  my  joy.  This  I  have  taught  you,  this  I 
now  bequeath  to  your  race. 

Now  it  is  precisely  in  this  love,  and  nowhere  else,  that 
the  followers  of  Christ  have  actually  found  so  great  joy. 
This  is  their  light,  the  day-star  dawning  in  their  hearts, 
the  renewing  of  their  inward  man,  their  joy  of  faith,  the 
believing  that  makes  them  rejoice  with  joy  unspeakable 
and  full  of  glorj^  By  this  they  become  exceeding  joyfiil 
in  all  their  tribulations.  They  are  raised  above  the  world 
and  conquer  it,  in  the  loss  they  make  of  it ; — dying,  and 
still  able  to  live ;  chastened,  but  not  killed ;  sorrowful,  yet 
always  rejoicing ;  poor,  yet  making  many  rich ;  having 
nothing,  yet  possessing  all  things.  Their  heart  is  enlarged 
in  the  divine  love,  and  is  become,  in  that  manner,  a  fount- 
ain of  essential,  eternal,  indestructible,  and  sovereign  joy. 
Thev  realize,  in  a  word,  the  very  testament  of  Christ, — His 
joy  is  in  them,  and  their  joy  is  full. 

Mark  now  some  of  the  mspiring  and  quickening 
thoughts  that  crowd  upon  us  in  the  subject  reviewed. 
And— 

I.  .loy  ]%  for  ail  men.     It  does  not  iepend  ou  circnm- 


240  HAPPINESS    AND    JOY. 

Btance,  or  condition ;  if  it  did,  it  could  only  be  for  the  few 
It  ]s  not  the  fruit  of  good  luck,  or  of  fortune,  or  even  o/ 
outward  success,  which  all  men  can  not  have.  It  is  of  the 
eoul,  or  the  soul's  character;  it  is  the  wealth  of  the  soul'g 
own  being,  when  it  is  filled  with  the  spirit  of  Jesus,  which 
is  the  spirit  of  eternal  love.  If  you  want,  therefore,  to 
know  who  of  mankind  can  have  the  gift  of  joy,  jow  have 
only  to  ask  who  of  them  have  souls ;  for  every  soul  is 
made  to  be  a  well-spring  of  eternal  blessedness,  and  will 
be,  if  only  it  permits  the  waters  of  the  eternal  love  to  rise 
within.  It  can  have  right  thoughts  and  true,  and  be  set 
in  everlasting  harmon}^  with  itself  It  can  love,  and  so, 
without  going  about  to  find  what  shall  bless  it,  it  has  all 
the  material  of  blessing  in  itself;  resources  in  its  own  im- 
mortal nature,  as  a  creature  dwelling  in  the  light  of  God, 
which  can  not  fail,  or  be  exhausted ; — all  men  are  for  joy, 
and  joy  for  all. 

2.  It  is  equally  evident  that  the  reason  why  they  do  not 
have  it,  is  that  they  do  not  seek  it  where  it  is, — in  the  re- 
ceiving of  Christ  and  the  spirit  of  his  life.  They  go  after 
it  m  things  without,  not  in  character  within ;  they  have 
all  faith  in  fortune,  none  in  character.  So  they  build 
palaces,  and  accumulate  splendors  about  them,  and  keep  a 
desert  within.  And  then,  since  the  desert  within  can  not 
be  made  to  rejoice  in  the  gewgaws  and  vanities  without, 
they  sigh,  they  are  very  melancholy,  the  world  is  a  hard 
world,  vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity.  Let  them  cease 
this  whimpering  about  the  vanities  and  come  to  Christ ;  let 
them  receive  his  joy,  and  there  is  an  end  to  the  hunger. 
Take  my  yoke  upon  you  and  learn  of  rne,  and  ye  shall 
jQnd  rest  to  your  souls.  There  is  nothing  hard  in  what  1 
require.     When  I  call  you  to  renounce  all  and  take  uf 


HAPPINESS    AND    JOT.  241 

your  cross  and  follow  me,  I  only  seek  to  withdraw  yon 
from  the  chase  after  happiness,  that  I  may  fill  you  with 
joy.  My  yoke  is  easy,  therefore,  and  my  burden  is  light. 
Ah  1  how  many  have  found  it  to  be  exactly  so !  What 
emprise  have  they  felt  in  the  dawning  of  this  Christian 
joy.  They  seemed  about  to  lose  every  thing,  and  found 
themselves,  instead,  possessing  all  things. 

3.  It  is  here  seen  to  be  important  that  we  hold  some 
rational  and  worthy  conception  of  the  heavenly  felicity. 
How  easy  it  is  for  the  christian,  who  has  tasted  the  true 
joy  of  Christ,  to  let  go  the  idea  of  joy  and  slide  into  the 
pursuit  only  of  happiness,  or  the  good  of  condition. 
Worldly  minds  are  in  this  vein  always ;  they  more  gener- 
ally do  not  even  conceive  any  thing  different,  and  tho 
w'iole  gravitation  therefore  of  the  world,  both  in  its  pur- 
suits and  opinions,  is  in  this  direction.  Heaven  itself  is 
thought  of  as  a  place,  a  condition,  a  kind  of  paradise  ex- 
ternal, which  has  power  to  make  every  body  happy.  The 
question  of  universal  salvation  turns  on  just  this  point,  in- 
quiring whether  all  souls  will  be  got  into  the  happy  place, 
not  whether  they  will  all  break  into  eternity  as  carrying 
the  eternal  joy  with  them.  Stated  in  that  manner,  the 
question  is  even  too  absurd  for  debate.  I  very  much  fear 
too  that  those  teachers  who  propose  religion  to  us  as  a 
problem  only  of  happiness,  calling  ns  to  Christ  that  we 
may  get  the  rewards  of  happiness,  the  highest  happiness, 
aegrad'"  our  conceptions,  and  let  us  down  below  the  truth, 
Wh'.n  we  speak  of  joy,  we  do  not  speak  of  som.ething  we 
are  after,  but  of  something  that  will  come  to  ua,  when  we 
are  after  God  and  duty.  It  is  a  prize  unbought,  and  is 
freest,  purest  in  its  flow,  when  it  comes  unsought.  No  get 
ting  into  heaven,  as  a  place,  will  compass  it.     You  must 

9.\ 


242  HAPPINESS    AND    jTOY 

carry  it  with  you,  else  it 'S  not  there.  Yoti  must  have  it 
in  you,  as  the  music  of  a  well-ordered  soul,  the  fire  of  n 
holy  purpose,  the  welling  up,  out  of  the  central  depths,  of 
eternal  springs  that  hide  their  waters  there.  It  is  the  rest 
of  confidence,  the  blessedness  of  internal  light  and  outflow- 
ing benevolence, — the  highest  form  of  life  and  spiritual 
majesty.  Being  the  birth  of  character,  it  has  eternity  in 
it.  Kising  from  within,  it  is  sovereign  over  all  circum- 
stance and  hindrance.  It  is  the  joy  of  the  Lord  in  the 
soul  of  man,  because  it  is  joy  like  his,  and  because  it  ia 
from  Him,  participated  by  the  secret  life  of  goodness. 

And  this,  my  friends,  is  the  glory  of  the  heavenly  state. 
If  you  have  been  thinking  of  heaven  only  as  a  happy 
place,  looking  for  it  as  the  reward  of  sorre  dull,  lifeless 
service,  arguing  it  for  all  men,  as  the  place  where  God  will 
show  his  goodness,  by  making  blessed  loathsome  and  base 
souls,  cheat  yourselves  no  more  by  this  folly.  Considei 
only  whether  heaven  be  in  you  now.  For  heaven,  as  we 
have  seen,  is  nothing  but  the  joy  of  a  perfectly  harmonized 
beins;,  filled  with  God  and  his  love.  The  charter  of  it 
is, — lie  that  overcometh  shall  inherit.  It  is  the  victorious 
energy  of  righteousness  forever  established  in  the  sold, 
And  this  in  us,  pure  and  supreme,  fulfills  the  glorious  be- 
quest of  Christ  our  Lord,— that  my  joy  might  remain  Id 
you,  and  that  your  joy  may  be  full.  It  remains, — it  if 
lull. 


XIII. 

THE  TRUE    PROBLEM    OF   CHRISTIAN    EXl'ERIRN'CE. 

Revelations  ii.  4. — "  Nevertheless^  I  have  somewhat 
izgaiml  (he::,  because  thou  hast  left  thy  first  I  i^e." 

There  are  some  texts  of  scripture  that  suffer  a  much 
harder  lot  than  any  of  the  martyrs,  because  their  mart3rr- 
dom  is  perpetual ;  and  this  I  think  is  one  of  the  number. 
Two- classes  appear  to  concur  in  destroying  its  dignity; 
viz.,  the  class  who  deem  it  a  matter  of  cant  to  make  any 
thing  of  conversion,  and  the  class  who  make  religion  itself 
i  matter  of  cant,  by  seeing  nothing  in  it  but  conversion. 

My  object,  however,  is  not  so  much  to  balance  these 
opposites,  or  even  to  recover  the  passage  of  scripture  that 
is  lost  between  them ;  but  it  is  to  clear  the  way  of  all 
christian  experience,  by  showing  what  it  does  and  how  it 
proceeds.  There  are  many  disciples  of  our  time  who,  like 
the  Ephesian  disciples,  arc  to  be  warmly  commended  for 
their  intended  fidelity,  and  are  yet  greatly  troubled  and 
depressed  by  what  appears  to  be  a  real  loss  of  ground  in 
their  piety.  Christ  knows  their  works,  approves  their 
oatience,  commends  their  withdrawing  always  from  thtjm 
tuat  are  evil ;  testifies  for  +hem  that  they  have  withstood 
false  teachers,  with  a  wary  and  circumspect  fidelity,  madt 
sacrifices,  labored  and  not  fainted ;  and  yet  they  arc  com- 
pelled to  sigh  over  a  certain  subsidence  of  that  pure  sensi- 
bility and  that  high  inspiration,  in  which  their  disciple- 
ship  began.     The  clearness  of  that  hour  is  blurred,  the 


244  THE    TRUE    PROBLEM    OF 

fi'esli  joy  interspaced  with  dryness.  Omissions  of  dutj 
are  discovered  which  they  did  not  mean ;  they  do  not  en 
joy  the  sacrifices  they  make  as  they  once  did,  and  make 
them  often  in  a  legal,  self-constrained  manner.  Rallying 
themselves  to  new  struggles,  as  they  frequently  do,  to  re- 
trieve their  losses,  they  simpl}^  hurry  on  their  own  will 
aitd  therefore  thrust  themselves  out  of  faith  only  the  more 
rapidly.  The  danger  is,  at  this  Ephesian  point  of  depres- 
sion, that  not  knowing  what  their  change  of  phase  realiy 
signifies,  or  under  what  conditions  a  real  progress  in  holy 
character  is  to  be  made,  they  will  finally  surrender,  as  to  a 
doom  of  retrogradation  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  I  de- 
sign, if  possible,  to  bring  them  help,  calling  their  attention 
directly  to  these  two  points: — 

I.  The  relation  of  the  first  love,  or  the  heginning  of  tht 
KUristian  discipleship,  to  the  siihsequent  life. 

TI.  The  relation  of  the  subsequent  life,  including  its  appa- 
rent losses,  to  the  heginning. 

What  we  call  conversion  is  not  a  change  distinctly  trac^e- 
able  in  the  experience  of  all  disciples,  though  it  is  and 
must  be  a  realized  fact  in  all.  There  are  many  that  grew 
U])  out  of  their  infancy,  or  childhood,  in  the  grace  of  Christ, 
and  remember  no  time  when  they  began  to  love  him. 
Kven  such,  however,  will  commonly  remember  a  time, 
when  their  love  to  God  and  divine  things  became  a  fact  so 
■j'esh,  so  newly  conscious,  as  to  raise  a  doubt,  whether  it 
\s  as  not  then  for  the  first  time  kindled.  In  other  eases 
there  is  no  doubt  of  a  beginning, — a  real,  conscious,  defi- 
nitely remembered  beginning;  a  new  turning  to  God,  & 
fresh-born  christian  love.      The  conversion  to  Christ  L« 


CHRISTIAN    EXPERIENCE.  24§ 

marked  as  distinctly  as  that  of  tlie  Ephesian  cluircli,  when 
coming  o^er  to  Christ,  from  their  previous  idolatry.  The 
love  is  cor  sciously  first  love,  a  new  revelation  of  God  in  the 
Boul ;  a  restored  consciousness  of  God,  a  birth  of  joy  and 
glorified  song  in  the  horizon  of  the  soul's  life,  like  that 
which  burst  into  our  sky  when  Jesus  was  born  into  the 
world.  All  things  were  new, — Christ  was  new,  the  word 
a  new  light,  worship  a  new  gift,  the  world  a  new  realm  of 
beauty  shining  in  the  brightness  of  its  author :  even  the  man 
himself  was  new  to  himself.  Sin  was  gone,  and  fear  also 
was  gone  with  it.  To  love  was  his  all,  and  he  loved  every 
thing.  The  day  dawned  in  joy,  and  the  thoughts  of  the 
night  were  songs  in  his  heart.  Then  how  tender,  how 
teachable ;  in  his  conscience  how  true,  in  his  works  how 
dutiful.  It  was  the  divine  childhood,  as  it  were,  of  his 
faith,  and  the  beauty  of  childhood  was  in  it.  This  was 
his  first  love,  and  if  all  do  not  remember  any  precise  ex- 
perience of  the  kind,  they  do,  at  least,  remember  what 
was  so  far  resembled  to  this  as  to  leave  no  importaiit 
distinction, 

I.  What  now  is  the  import  of  such  a  state,  what  its  re- 
lation to  the  subsequent  life  and  character? 

It  is  not,  I  answer,  what  they  assume,  who  conceive  i( 
to  be  only  a  new  thought  taken  up  by  the  subject  himself, 
which  he  may  as  naturally  drop  the  next  moment,  or  may 
go  on  to  cultivate  till  it  is  perfected  in  a  character.  It  is 
more,  a  character  begun,  a  divine  fact  accomplished,  in 
which  the  subject  is  started  on  a  new  career  of  regenerated 
liberty  in  good.  I  answer  again  that  it  is  not  any  such 
thing  as  they  assume  it  to  be,  who  take  it  as  a  completed 
cpft,  which  only  needs  tc  be  held  fast.     It  is  less,  far  los? 

21* 


246  THE    TRUE    PEOBLEM    OF 

than  this.  To  God  it  is  one  of  his  beginnings,  which  he 
will  carry  on  to  perfection ;  to  the  subject  himself  it  is  the 
dawn  of  his  paradise,  an  experience  that  will  stand  behind 
him  as  an  image  of  the  glory  to  be  revealed  beff  re,  an  ideal 
set  np,  in  his  beatitude,  of  that  state  in  which  his  sou]  in 
to  be  perfected  and  to  find  its  rest.  In  one  view,  indeei'j, 
it  is  a  kind  of  perfect  state, — a  state  resembled  w  inno- 
cence. It  is  fi-ee,  it  is  full  of  God,  it  is  for  the  time  with- 
out care.  New  born,  as  it  were,  the  spirit  of  a  babe  is  in 
it.  The  consciousness  of  sin  is,  for  a  time,  almost  or  quite 
suspended, — sin  is  washed  away,  the  heart  is  clean.  The 
eye  is  single,  as  a  child's  eye.  The  spirit  is  tender,  as  a 
child's  spirit, — so  ingenuous,  so  pure  in  its  intentions,  so 
simple  in  its  love,  that  it  even  wears  the  grace  of  a 
heavenly  childhood. 

In  this  flowering  state  of  beauty  the  soul  discovers,  and 
even  has  in  its  feeling  the  sense  of  perfection,  and  is  thus 
awakened  from  within  to  the  great  ideal,  in  which  its  bliss 
is  to  be  consummated.  The  perfection  conceived  too  and 
get  up  as  the  mark  of  attainment,  is  something  more  than 
a  form  of  grace  to  be  hereafter  realized.  It  is  now  realized, 
as  far  as  it  can  be — the  very  citizenship  of  the  soul  is 
changed ;  it  has  gone  over  into  a  new  world,  and  is  entered 
there  into  new  relations.  But  it  has  not  made  acquaint 
ance  there ;  it  scarcely  knows  how  it  came  in,  or  how  tT 
stay,  and  the  whole  problem  of  the  life-struggle  is,  to  be- 
come established  in  what  has  before  been  initiated. 

There  is  a  certain  analogy  between  this  state,  paradisaic- 
illy  beautiful,  pure,  and  clean,  and  that  external  paradise 
in  which  our  human  history  began.  What  could  be  more 
lovely  and  blessed,  what  in  a  certain  formal  sense  mor^ 
perfect  than  the  upright,  innocent,  all-harmonious  child 


CHRISTIAN    EXPERIENCE.  247 

hood  of  the  first  liuman  pair.  But  it  was  beauty  wiiKoul 
Btrengtb ,  the  ingenuous  goodness  of  beings  unacquainted 
with  evil.  A  single  breath  of  temptation  is  enough  to 
sweep  it  all  away.  The  only  way  to  establish  it  is  to  lof>e 
It  and  regain  it.  Paradise  lost  and  regained  is  not  a  con- 
ception only  of  the  poet,  but  it  is  the  grand  world-prob- 
lem of  probation  itself.  No  state  of  virtue  is  complete, 
however  total  the  virtue,  save  as  it  is  won  by  a  conflict 
with  evil,  and  fortified  by  the  struggles  of  a  resolute  and 
even  bitter  experience.  Somewhat  in  the  same  way,  it  is 
necessary  that  a  christian  should  fight  out  the  conquest  of 
his  paradise,  in  order  to  be  really  established  in  it.  There 
IS  no  absolute  necessity  that  he  should  lose  it,  nor  any 
Buch  qualified  necessity  as  there  was  that  the  first  mac 
should  fall  from  his  integrity ;  for  he  is,  by  the  supposition, 
one  who  has  learned  already  the  bitterness  of  evil,  by  a 
life  thus  far  steeped  in  the  gall  of  it.  He  has  been  outside 
of  his  paradise,  to  look  on  it  from  thence,  as  Adam  had 
not.  lie  has  only  not  been  inside  long  enough  to  thorough- 
ly understand  the  place.  He  will  commonly  never  be  es- 
tablished in  it,  therefore,  till  he  knows  it  more  experiment- 
ally, and  gets  wonted  in  it.  And  yet  there  are  a  few,  as 
I  verily  believe,  who  never  go  outside  again,  from  the 
moment  of  their  first  entering,  but  stay  withm,  unfold 
ing  all  their  life  long,  as  flowers,  in  their  paradise, — trust' 
ful,  ductile,  faithful,  and  therefore  unfaltering  in  theii 
steadfastness. 

Still  the  probability  that  any  one  will  continue  in  the 
clearness  and  freshness  of  his  first  love  to  God,  suffeiing 
no  appaient  loss,  falling  into  no  disturbance  or  state  of  self- 
accusing  doubt,  is  not  great.  And  where  the  love  is  reall;^ 
not  lost,  it  will  commonly  need  to  be  comjuered  agaiu, 


248  THE    TRUE    I'ROBLEM    OF 

over  and  over,  and  wrought  into  the  soul  by  a  protracted 
and  resolute  warfare.  The  germ  that  was  planted  as  im- 
pulse must  be  nourished  by  discipline.  What  was  initiated 
as  feeling  must  be  matured  by  holy  application,  till  it  be 
comes  one  of  the  soul's  own  habits. 

A  niere  glance  at  the  new-born  state  of  love  disco ver^ 
bow  incomplete  and  unrelialls  it  is.  Eegarded  in  the 
mere  form  of  feeling,  it  is  all  beauty  and  life.  A  halo  of 
innocence  rests  upon  it,  and  it  seems  a  fresh  made  creature, 
reeking  in  the  dews  of  its  first  morning.  But  h()W  strange 
a  creature  is  it  to  itself, — waking  to  the  discovery  of  ita 
existence,  bewildered  by  the  mj^stery  of  existence.  An 
angel  as  it  were  in  feeling,  it  is  yet  a  child  in  self-under- 
standing. The  sacred  and  pure  feeling  you  may  plainly 
see  is  environed  by  all  manner  of  defects,  weaknesses,  and 
half-conquei'ed  mischiefs,  just  ready  to  roll  back  upon  it 
and  stifle  its  life.  The  really  sublime  feeling  of  rest  and 
confidence  into  which  it  has  come,  you  will  see  is  backed, 
a  little  way  off,  by  causes  of  unrest,  insufficiency,  anxious- 
ness  and  fear.  Questions  numberless,  scruples,  fluctuating 
moods,  bad  thoughts,  unmanageable  doubts,  emotiona 
spent  that  can  not  be  restored  by  the  will,  novelty  passing 
by  and  the  excitements  of  novelty  vanishing  with  it,— 
there  is  a  whole  army  of  secret  invaders  close  at  hand,  and 
you  may  figure  them  all  as  peering  in  upon  the  soul,  from 
their  places  of  ambush,  ready  to  make  their  assault.  And 
what  is  worst  of  all,  the  confidence  it  has  in  the  Spirit  of 
God,  and  which,  evenly  held,  would  bear  it  triumphantly 
through,  is  itself  unpracticed,  and  is  probably  underlaid 
by  a  suppressed  feeling  of  panic,  lest  he  should  sometime 
take  his  leave  capriciously.  It  certainly  would  not  be 
strange,  ii   the  disciple,  beset  by  so  many  defects  and  ao 


CHRISTIAN    EXPERIENCE.  249 

Ji^lle  ripe  in  his  experience,  should  seem  tor  a  "vhile 
to  lose  ground,  even  while  strenuously  careful  to  malr-tair 
ns  fidelit3^  And  then  Christ  will  have  somewhat  against 
him.  He  will  not  judge  him  harshly  and  charge  it  against 
bi;a  as  a  3rime  that  has  no  mitigations;  it  will  only  be  a 
fatal  impeachment  of  his  discipleship,  when  he  finally  sur- 
rendei's  the  struggle,  and  relapses  into  a  prayerless  and 
"world Iv  life. 

The  significance  then  of  the  first  love  as  related  to  the 
subsequent  life,  is  twofold.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  the 
birth  of  a  new,  supernatural,  and  divine  consciousness  in 
the  soul,  in  which  it  is  raised  to  another  plane,  and  begins 
to  live  as  from  a  new  point.  And  secondly,  it  is  so  much 
of  a  reality,  or  fact  realized,  that  it  initiates,  in  the  subject, 
experimentally,  a  conception  of  that  rest,  that  fullness,  and 
peace,  and  joyous  purity,  in  which  it  will  be  the  bliss  and 
greatness  of  his  eternity  to  be  established.  In  both 
respects,  it  is  the  beginning  of  the  end ;  and  yet,  to  carry 
the  beginning  over  to  the  end,  and  give  it  there  its  due 
fulfillment,  requires  a  large  and  varied  trial  of  experience. 
The  office  and  ojieration  of  this  trial  it  now  remains  to 
exhibit  as  proposed. — 

II.  In  a  consideration  of  the  subsequent  life,  as  related 
to  the  beginning,  or  first  love.  The  real  object  of  the  sul)- 
sequent  life,  as  a  struggle  of  experience,  is  to  produce  in 
wisdom  what  is  there  begotten  as  a  feeling,  oi  a  new  love ; 
and  thus  to  make  a  fixed  state  of  that  which  was  initiated 
only  as  a  love.  It  is  to  convert  a  heavenly  impulse  into  a 
heavenly  habit.  It  is  to  raise  the  christian  childhood  into 
ft  christian  manhood, — to  make  the  first  love  a  second  oi 
completed  love;  or,  what  is  the  same,  to  fulfill  the  firs^ 


250  THE    TRUE    PROBLEM    OP 

lovO;  and  give  it  a  pervading  fullness  in  the  soul ;  sucli  tbal 
fclie  whole  man,  as  a  thinking,  self-knowing,  acting,  chooS' 
ing,  tenipted  and  temptable  creature,  shall  coalesce  with  it, 
and  be  forever  lested,  immovably  grounded  in  it. 

'J.'he  paradise  of  first  love  is  a  germ,  we  may  conceive, 
in  the  soul's  feeling  of  the  paradise  to  be  fulfilled  in  ita 
wisdom,  And  when  the  heavenly  in  fechug  becomes  the 
heavenly  in  choice,  thought,  judgment,  and  habit,  so  that 
the  whole  nature  consents  and  rests  in  it  as  a  known  state, 
then  is  it  fulfilled  or  completed.  Then  is  the  ideal  awak- 
ened by  the  first  love  become  a  feet  or  attainment.  See 
now,  briefly,  in  what  manner  the  experimental  life  works 
this  fulfillment. 

At  first  the  disciple  knows,  we  shall  see,  very  little  of 
himiSelf,  and  still  less  how  to  carry  himself  so  as  to  meet 
the  new  state  of  divine  consciousness,  into  which  he  ia 
born.  You  may  look  upon  him  as  literally  a  new,  super- 
natural man,  and  just  as  a  child  has  to  learn  the  use  of  his 
own  body,  in  handling,  tasting,  heaving,  climbing,  falling, 
running,  so  the  new  man  learns,  in  the  struggles  of  prac- 
tical life,  his  own  new  nature, — how  to  work  his  thoughts, 
rule  his  passions,  feed  his  wants,  settle  his  choices,  and 
clear  his  affections.  Thus,  at  last,  his  whole  nature  be- 
comes limber  and  quick  to  his  love ;  so  that  the  life  he 
had  in  feeling,  he  can  023erate,  express,  fortify,  and  feed 
At  first,  nothing  co-operates  in  settled  harmony  with  hie 
now  life ;  but,  if  he  is  feithful,  he  will  learn  how  to  make 
every  thing  in  him  work  with  it.  and  assist  the  edifying  of 
his  soul  in  love. 

A  great  point  with  him  is  the  learning  how  to  maintain 
his  new  supernatural  relation  of  sonship  and  vital  access 
to  God     Conscious  of  any  loss,  or  apparent  separation,  b« 


I 


CHRISTIAN    EXPERIENCE.  251 

is  likely,  at  first,  to  throw  himself  out  of  God's  peace  only 
the  more  completely,  by  the  panic  he  indulges,  and  the 
violent  throes  he  makes  to  re-establish  himself.  The  feel- 
hig  in  which  he  is  raised  to  a  participation  of  God  can  no*, 
mstruct  him  how  to  maintain  that  participation,  or  to  keep 
an  open  state  of  access.  How  to  work  his  will,  his  inward 
suggestions  and  outward  duties;  how  to  shape  his  life  and 
order  his  p]-ayers,  so  as  to  set  himself  always  before  God, 
and  command  a  ready  approaca,  he  knows,  as  yet,  only  by 
the  guidance  of  his  feeling.  But  the  struggle  of  experi- 
ence brings  him  into  a  growing  acquaintance  both  with 
God  and  himself  as  related  to  God,  removing  in  this  man- 
ner his  awkwardness,  so  that  he  is  able  to  reject  all  false 
methods  and  all  raw  experiments,  and  address  himself  to 
God  skillfully,  as  a  friend  will  address  a  friend.  He  knows 
exactly  how  he  must  stand  before  God,  to  be  one  with  him 
and  abide  in  him.  He  comes  into  the  secret  of  God  easily 
and,  as  it  were,  naturally,  and  receives  the  manifestation 
of  God  as  one  who  lives  in  the  adoption  of  a  son. 

In  the  same  way,  or  by  the  same  course  of  experience, 
he  conceives  more  and  more  perfectly  what  is  the  true  idea 
of  character.  At  first,  character  is  to  him  a  mere  feeling 
or  impulse,  a  frame.  Next,  perhaps,  it  becomes  a  life  of 
work  and  self-denial.  Kext  a  principle,  nothing  but  a 
matter  of  principle.  Next  he  conceives  that  it  is  some 
lliing  outwardly  beautiful,  a  beautiful  life.  After  a  wlrlo, 
he  discovers  that  he  has  been  trying  to  mold  what  is  spirit- 
ual l)y  his  mere  natural  taste,  and  forgotten  the  first  love, 
as  the  animating  life  and  divine  principle  of  beauty,  And 
BO  he  draws  himself  on,  by  degrees,  through  all  the  variant 
phases  of  loss  and  self-criticism,  to  a  more  full  and  rounded 
conception  of  character,  returning  at  last  to  that  wl'icli 


262  THE    TRUE    PROBLEM    OF 

lay  in  his  first  love.  So  tliat  character  is,  at  last,  conceived 
as  a  life  whose  action^  choice,  thought,  and  expression  are 
all  animated  and  shaped  bj  the  spirit  of  holiness  and  divine 
beauty  which  was  first  breathed  into  his  feeling.  Nothing 
is  so  difficult  to  settle  as  the  conception  of  a  perfect  char- 
acter; nothing,  at  the  same  time,  so  necessary.  And  every 
faithful  christian  will  be  conscious  of  a  constantly  progress- 
ive change,  in  his  conception  of  what  he  is  to  be. 

A  very  great  point  to  be  gained,  by  the  struggle  of  ex- 
perience, is  to  learn  when  one  has  a  right  to  the  stpte  of 
confidence  and  rest.  At  first  the  disciple  measnres  him- 
self wliolly  by  his  feeling.  If  feeling  changes,  as  it  will 
and  must  at  limes,  then  he  condemns  himself,  and  condemn- 
ing himself  perhaps  without  reason,  he  breaks  his  confi- 
dence toward  God  and  stifles  his  peace.  Then  he  is  ready 
to  die  to  get  back  his  confidence,  but  not  knowing  how  he 
lost  it,  he  knows  not  where  to  find  it.  He  had  been  at  hig 
business,  and  as  that  occupied  his  attention,  it  took  off 
also  somewhat  of  his  feeling:  charging  this  to  the  account 
of  sin,  and  not  to  any  want  of  experience  in  turning  the 
mind  so  as  to  keep  or  recover  its  emotions,  he  put  his  con- 
science against  him  where  it  ought  to  have  been  his  helper, 
and  fell  into  the  greater  difficulty  because  he  fell  into 
mental  confusion.  Or  perhaps  he  had  played  with  his 
children,  or  he  had  talked  in  society  about  things  not  relig- 
ious, in  order  to  accommodate  the  circle  he  was  in:  this 
touched  the  delicate  feeling  of  his  soul ;  and,  as  feeling 
docs  not  reason  or  judge,  the  wound  was  taken  for  admit- 
ted sin.  On  one  occasion  he  did  rot  give  heed  to  some 
insignificant,  or  really  absurd  scruple.  On  anothei"  h;; 
declined  some  duty  which  really  was  no  duty,  and  wad 
better  not  to  be  done      In  short,  he  was  continually  con 


(■  ! :  KI  S  T  I  A  N      K  X  1'  IC  K  I  ]•;  >  C  K  .  253 

deniiiing  and  toniiciiting  liiniself,  and  gratuitously  foi'bid- 
diiig  himself  all  confidence  toward  God.  But  fiiiallv.  after 
hatterino;  down  his  own  confidence  and  stitiinof  his  love  in 
this  manner  by  self-disconragcnient  for  many  years,  lu 
is  corrected  by  God's  Spirit  and  led  into  a  discovery  ol 
himself  and  the  world  that  is  moi-e  just,  ceases  to  condemn 
himself  in  that  which  he  allowcth,  so  to  allow  himself 
in  anything  which  he  condemneth  ;  and  now  behold 
what  a  morning  it  is  for  his  love !  His  perturbed 
anxious  state  is  gone.  God's  smile  is  always  upon  him. 
His  peace  flows  down  npon  him  as  a  river  from  the 
throne.  His  first  love  returns,  henceforth  to  abide  and 
never  depart.  Everywhere  it  goes  with  liim,  into  all  the 
callings  of  industry  and  business,  into  social  pleasures  and 
recreations,  bathing  his  soul  as  a  divine  element. 

By  a  similar  process  he  learns  how  to  modulate  and 
operate  his  will.  On  one  side  his  sonl  Avas  in  the  divine 
love.  On  the  other  he  had  his  will.  But,  how  to  work  his 
will  so  as  perfectly  to  suit  his  love,  he  at  first  did  not  know. 
He  accordingly  took  his  love  into  the  care  of  his  will;  foi 
assuredly  he  must  do  all  that  is  possible  to  kee[)  it  alive. 
lie  thus  deranged  all  right  order  and  health  within  liy  his 
violent  su]ierintendence,  l)attered  down  the  jov  Ik;  wished 
to  keep,  and  could  n(.)t  understand  what  he  should  do 
more;  for,  as  yet,  all  he  had  done  seemed  to  be  killing  his 
1  )ve.  He  had  not  learned  that  love  flows  down  only  fronj 
God,  who  is  its  object,  and  cannot  be  manufactured  within 
ourselves.  But  he  discovers  finally  that  it  was  first 
kindled  by  losing,  for  the  time,  his  will.  Understanding 
now  that  he  is  to  lose  his  will  in  God's  will,  and  al)and()U 
hi7nsdf  wholly  to  God,  to  rest  in  him  and  receive  of  his 
^idlness:  findino- too  that  will  is  (  rdvaform  of  self- seeking' 


254  THE    TRUE    PROBLEM    OF 

he  makes  a  total  loss  of  will,  self,  and  all  his  sufficiency  ; 
whereupon  the  first  love  floods  his  nature  again,  and  bathea 
him  liks  a  sea  without  a  shore.  And  yet  it  will  not  be 
strange  if  he  finds,  within  a  year,  that,  as  he  once  over- 
acted his  will  in  self-conduct,  so  now  he  is  underacting  it 
in  quietism ;  that  his  love  grows  thin  for  want  of  energy 
and,  returning  to  his  will  again,  he  takes  it  up  in  God ; 
dares  to  have  plans  and  ends,  and  to  be  a  person ;  wrestlca 
with  God  and  prevails  with  him;  and  so  becomes,  at  last, 
a  prince,  acknowledged  and  crowned  before  him. 

His  thinking  power  undergoes  a  similar  discipline.  At 
first,  he  doubted  much,  doubted  whether  he  had  a  right  to 
doubt,  and  whether  he  did  doubt,  and  yet  more  how  to  get 
rid  of  his  doubts.  '  The  clatter  of  his  old,  disordered, 
thinking  nature  began,  ere  long,  to  drown  his  love  by  the 
perpetual  noise  it  made ;  old  associations  led  in  trains  of 
evil  suggestion,  which,  like  armies  of  wrath,  overran  and 
desolated  his  soul.  He  attacked  every  one  of  them  in  turn 
and  that  kept  him  thinking  of  the  base  things  he  wanted 
to  forget.  He  discovers,  at  length,  that  all  he  can  do  is  to 
fill  his  capacity  v/ith  something  better, — his  mind  with 
truth,  his  heart  with  God  and  faith,  his  hands  with  duty, 
and  all  with  the  holy  enthusiasm  of  christian  hope;  and 
then,  since  there  is  no  room  left  for  idle  fancies  and  vain 
imaginations  to  enter,  he  is  free,  the  torments  of  evil  sug- 
gestion are  shut  away.  The  courses  and  currents  of  the 
soul  arc  now  cleared,  and  his  thoughts,  like  couriers  sent 
up  through  the  empyrean,  will  return  bringing  visions  of 
God  aid  divine  beauty  to  waken  the  pure  first  love  and 
kindle  its  joyful  flames. 

At  first  he  had  a  very  perplexing  war  with  his  motives. 
He  feared  that  his  motive  was  selfish,  and  then  he  feared 


CHRISTIAN    EXPERIENCE.  '       255 

that  his  fear  was  selfish..  He  dug  at  himself  bo  intently,  w 
detect  his  selfishness,  as  to  create  the  selfishness  he  feared. 
The  complications  of  his  heart  were  infinite,  and  he  became 
confused  in  his  attempt  to  untwist  them.  He  blamed  hia 
loye  to  God  because  he  loved  him  for  his  goodness,  and 
then  tried  to  love  him  more  without  anj^  thought  of  hia 
E^oodness.  He  was  so  curious,  in  fast,  to  know  his  motivea 
that  he  knew  nothing  of  them,  and  finally  stifled  his  love 
in  the  efibrt  to  understand  it,  and  act  the  critic  over  it. 
At  length,  after  months  or  years  it  may  be  of  desolation, 
he  discovers,  as  he  had  never  done  before,  that  he  was  a 
child  in  his  first  love,  and  had  a  child's  simplicity.  And 
now  he  h'ls  learned  simplicity  by  his  trial !  Falling  now 
into  that  first  smiplicity,  there  to  abide,"  because  he  knows 
it,  the  first  love  blooms  again, — -blooms  as  a  flower,  let  us 
hope,  that  is  never  to  wither.  His  motive  is  pure,  because 
it  is  simple ;  and  his  eye,  being  single  toward  God,  his 
whole  body  is  full  of  light. 

Thus  far  it  is  supposed,  in  all  the  illustrations  given, 
that  the  new  love  kindled  by  the  Spirit  has  to  maintain 
itself,  in  company  with  great  personal  defects  in  the  sub- 
ject. These  defects  are  a  constant  tendency  in  him  to  de- 
fections that  correspond.  Whenever  he  yields  to  them,  he 
sulfers  a  loss  which  is,  in  that  case,  a  guilty  or  blameable 
loss.  But  he  will  sometimes  be  reduced  or  let  down,  sim.' 
ply  because,  or  principally  because,  he  has  too  little  skill 
or  insight  to  avoid  it.  And  this  reduction  will  sometimes 
go  so  far  as  to  be  a  kind  of  subsidence  out  of  the  super- 
nataral  into  the  natural  state.  He  is  confused  and  lost, 
and  his  very  love  appears  to  be  quite  rlead.  God  is  liid* 
den,  as  it  were,  behind  a  veil,  and  can  not  be  found.  Duties 
kept  up,  as  by  the  Ephesians,  without  lil'crty,  yield  nc 


256       '  THE    TKUE    PROBLEM    OF 

fruit  of  peace  or  blessing.  And  now,  since  it  is  not  in  the 
nature  of  a  soul  to  stand  empty  and  fight  off  evil,  with  no 
power  left  but  a  vacuum,  it  will  not  be  strange  if  he  leta 
m  the  world,  grows  light,  covetous,  ambitious,  and  haw 
only  a  name  to  live.  All  this,  in  one  view,  is  but  the 
working  of  his  defects.  Doubtless  he  is  blameable,  in  a 
degree,  though  not  as  he  would  be  if  he  had  no  such  de- 
fects to  contend  with.  Christ  has  somewhat  against  him, 
looks  on  him  as  one  made  subject  to  vanity  not  willingly, 
or  willingly  in  part,  and  waits  to  restore  him.  His  very 
losses  too  will  be  a  lesson  of  experience  really  invaluable. 
He  has  learned  his  defects  by  his  failures,  and  the  day  is 
not  far  distant  when  the  dryness  of  his  present  experience 
will  create,  in  his  heart,  an  irrepressible  longing  for  the 
recovery  of  the  ground  he  has  lost.  For  there  is  yet, 
slumbering  in  his  memory,  the  dim  ideal  of  a  first  love  to 
Christ.  Around  that  ideal  are  gathered  many  distasteful 
recollections  and  associations ;  but  there  is  a  faint,  sweet 
light  of  beauty  in  the  center.  And  now  as,  in  turn,  the 
world  itself  palls,  that  faint  spot  of  light  remembered  as 
tlie  dawn  of  love  to  Christ,  will  grow  radiant  and  beam  as 
a  sun  upon  him.  As  a  prodigal  he  will  return ;  as  a  prodi- 
gal returning,  be  met  a  great  way  off,  and  welcomed  by 
his  forgiving  and  rejoicing  father.  Now  he  is  in  his  love 
as  one  instructed.  His  defects  are  corrected  by  his  failures, 
and,  by  a  common  paradox  of  experience,  supplemented 
by  his  losses;  and  so  he  is  prepared  to  stand  fast  in  his  love. 
Sometimes  .a  very  dull  and  carnal,  or  capricious  nature  will 
go  through  this  kind  of  bad  experience  more  than  once, 
and  then  will  appear  to  be  saved  only  so  as  by  fire  But, 
more  commonly,  the  time  past  of  one  such  misery  wiU 
suffice. 


CHRISTIAIS'     EXPERIENCE.  25? 

You  perceive,  in  this  review,  Low  every  thing  in  the 
Bubsequent  life  of  the  disciple  is  designed  of  God  to  fnliil! 
the  first  love.  A  great  part  of  the  struggle  u^hicli  we  call 
experience,  appears  to  operate  exactly  the  other  way ;  to 
confuse  and  stifle  the  first  fire  of  the  spirit.  Still  the  pro- 
cess of  God  is  contrived  to  bring  us  round,  at  last,  to  the 
simple  state  which  we  embraced,  in  feeling,  and  help  us  to 
embrace  it  in  wisdom.  Then  the  first  love  fills  the  whole 
nature,  and  the  divine  beauty  of  the  child  is  perfected  in 
the  divine  beaut}^  of  a  vigorous  and  victorious  manhood. 
The  beginning  is  the  beginning  of  the  end,  the  end  the 
child  and  fruit  of  the  beginning. 

I  am  well  aware  that  some  will  be  dissatisfied  with  a  view 
of  the  christian  life  that  appears  to  anticipate  so  many 
turns  and  phases,  and  so  much  of  losing  experience.  They 
will  think  it  better  to  take  a  key-note  that  is  lower,  and 
start  upon  a  level  that  can  be  maintained.  Thus,  if  we  say 
nothing  of  a  conversion,  or  the  high  experience  involved 
in  that  term,  and  commence  a  course  of  devout  observ- 
ances and  church  formalities;  or  if,  taking  a  different 
method,  we  set  ourselves  to  a  careful  and  diligent  self-cul- 
ture, praying  and  woi'shipping  as  a  part  of  the  process, 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  effect,  noting  our  defects,  chasten- 
ing our  passions,  cherishing  our  religious  tastes  and  senti- 
ments; then,  in  one  or  the  other  of  these  methods,  we  may 
go  steadily  on,  it  will  be  imagined,  clear  of  all  fluctuations. 
maiiHaining  an  even,  respectable,  and  dignified  piety.  Yes, 
undoubioiViy  we  may,  and  that  for  the  very  reason  that  we 
have  no  first  love  to  lose,  no  fervors  to  be  abated,  and,  iij 
fact,  no  divine  birth  or  experience  at  all.  The  piety  com- 
mended is,  in  either  f^ase,  a  kind  of  stalagmite  piety,  bnilJ 

22* 


258  THE   trlE  problem   of 

up  from  below,  with  the  disadvantage  of  no  diip pings 
from  abo\  e ;  a  really  cavernous  formatior.,  upon  whi(.h  the 
true  light  of  day  never  shone.  In  some  cases,  the  soul 
may  pass  over  in  this  manner  imperceptibly,  into  some 
faint  experience  of  God  that  is  genuine ;  but  the  dignity 
it  boasts  is  the  dignity  of  a  consistent  poverty  and  ignor- 
ance of  God,  and  nothing  is  more  easy  to  be  maintained. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  very  reason  why  there  are  so  many 
phases,  or  seeming  lapses,  in  christian  experience,  is  not 
because  it  is  false,  but  oftener  because  it  is  genuine ;  be- 
cause God  has  really  dawned  upon  the  soul's  faith,  and 
kindled  a  fire  supernatural  in  its  love.  Hence,  to  settle  it 
into  this  high  relation,  as  a  properly  known  relation,  is 
often  a  work  of  much  time  and  difficulty.  The  j)roblem 
IS  neither  more  nor  less  than  to  learn  the  way  of  God,  and 
come  into  practical  acquaintance  with  him.  And  how  can 
this  be  done  without  a  large  experience  of  defeat  and  dis- 
asters endlessly  varied.  How  can  a  being  so  weak  and 
Ignorant,  knowing,  at  first,  almost  nothing  of  the  high  re- 
lations into  which  he  has  come,  learn  to  walk  evenly  with 
God,  save  as  he  is  instructed  by  many  waverings,  reat 
lions,  irregularities,  and  throes  of  losing  experience. 
Grazing  in  the  pasture  ground  of  a  mere  human  culture, 
we  might  show  more  plausibly ;  but  now  we  move  irregu- 
larly, just  because  we  are  in  a  level  where  the  experience 
of  nature  does  not  instruct  us.  We  lose  ground,  fall  out 
of  place,  subside  and  waver,  just  because  we  are  after 
something  transcendent,  something  above  us;  climbing  up 
unto  God,  to  rest  our  eternity  in  him, — a  being  whom,  ag 
yet,  we  do  not  sufficiently  know,  and  whom  to  know  is  life 
eternal.  Therefore  we  best  like  that  kind  of  life  which 
appears  least  plausible  in  present  show,  well  unders'tand 


CHRISTIAN    EXPERIENCE.  259 

mg  that,  if  nothing  more  were  in  band  than  simply  tc 
maintain  a  level  march,  on  the  footing  of  mere  nature, 
there  is  no  feeblest  christian,  or  even  no-christian,  who 
'iould  not  do  it  triumphantly^ 

The  flict  then  of  a  truly  first  love,  the  grand  christian 
fact  of  a  spiritual  conversion  or  regeneration,  is  no  way 
obscured  by  the  losing  experiences  that  so  often  follow. 
On  the  contrary,  its  evidence  is  rather  augmented  by  these 
irregularities  and  seeming  defections.  And,  if  it  be  more 
than  nothing,  then  it  is,  of  all  mortal  experiences,  the  chief; 
a  change  mysterious,  tremendous,  luminous,  joyful,  fearful, 
every  thing  which  a  first  contact  of  acquaintance  with  God 
can  make  it. 

Where  the  transition  to  this  state  of  divine  conscious- 
ness, from  a  merely  self-conscious  life  under  sin,  is  inartifi- 
cially  made,  and  distorted  by  no  mixtures  of  tumult  from 
the  subject's  own  eagerness,  it  is,  in  the  birth,  a  kind  of 
celestial  state,  like  that  of  the  glorified ;  clear,  clean,  peace- 
ful, and  full,  wanting  nothing  but  what,  for  the  time,  it 
does  not  know  it  wants ; — the  settled  confidence,  the  prac- 
tically instructed  wisdom,  the  established  and  tried  charac- 
ter, of  the  glorified.  And  yet  all  the  better  is  it,  impara- 
dised  in  this  glor}^,  this  first  love,  this  regenerative  life, 
this  inward  lifting  of  the  soul's  order,  that  a  prize  so  trans- 
cendent is  still,  in  a  sense,  to  be  won  or  fought  out  and 
gained  as  a  victory.  For  life  has  now  a  meaning,  and  its 
work  is  great ;  as  great,  in  fact,  in  the  humblest  walks  and 
affairs  as  in  the  highest.  And  the  more  difficulties  one  hag 
to  encounter,  within  and  without,  the  more  significant  and 
the  higher  in  inspiration  his  life  will  be.  The  very 
troubles  that  others  look  on  with  pity,  as  if  he  had  taker 


260  THE    TRUE    PROBLEM    OF 

up  a  kind  of  prety  more  perilous  and  burdensome  than 
waK  necessary,  will  be  bis  fields  of  victory,  and  bis  course 
of  life  will  be  just  as  mucb  bappier  as  it  is  more  consciousl_y 
beroic.  He  bas  sometbing  great  to  live  for,  nay,  somctbing 
wortby  even  to  die  for,  if  be  must, — tbat  wbicb  makes  it 
glorious  to  live  and  not  less  glorious  to  die. 

Tbis  war  too  is  one,  my  bretbren,  as  I  verily  believe 
ibat,  in  all  tbat  is  bitterest  and  most  painful,  may  be 
effectually  carried  and  ended  witbout  waiting  for  tbe  end  of 
your  life.  Tbe  bitterness  and  painful ness  are,  in  fact,  no- 
"wbere,  except  in  tbe  losing  or  apparently  losing  experiences 
of  wbicb  I  bave  been  speaking,  and  tbese  may  assuredly 
be  surmounted.  Tbere  is  a  standing  above  all  sense  of  loss, 
a  peace  of  God  tbat  can  not  be  sbaken,  a  first  love  made 
second  and  final,  into  wbicb  you  may  come  soon,  if  you 
are  faitbful,  and  in  wbicb  you  may  abide.  Tbe  doctrine 
of  Wesley  and  bis  followers  may  be  exaggerated,  or  par- 
tially misconceived ;  I  tbink  it  is.  Tbey  appear  to  bold 
tbat  tbere  is  a  kind  of  second  conversion,  bigber  tban  tb( 
first,  wbicb  tbey  imagine  is  complete  sanctification.  But 
it  is,  if  I  am  rigbt,  neitber  more  nor  less  tban  tbe  point  of 
tbe  first  love  reacbed  again,  witb  tbe  advantage  of  mucb 
wisdom  or  self-understanding  brougbt  back  witb  it.  Tbe 
disciple  is,  for  tbat  reason,  stronger,  wider  in  volumCj  more 
able  to  abide  or  stand  fast.  But,  if  be  is  not  stiong  enougli, 
be  will  veiy  certainly  take  anotber  circuit,  and  perbaps  an- 
other. Enougb  tbat  tbere  is  bope, — tbat  tbere  is  a  state  of 
profound  liberty,  assurance,  and  peace,  wbicb  you  may  at- 
tain to.  and  in  wbicb  you  may  abide.  Indeed,  tbe  original 
love  itself  was  but  a  foretaste  in  feeling,  of  tbat  wbicb 
you  mav  acbieve  in  wisdom ;  and  you  are  to  set  tbat  mart 


CHRISTIAN     EXPERIENCE  261 

In  your  eye,  expecting  to  emerge  again,  or  to  climb  patiently 
up  into  a  state  of  purity  and  fellowship  closely  resembled  tn 
that. 

If,  then,  you  have  now  become  entangled,  discouraged, 
darkened, — if  j^ou  seem  to  have  quite  given  over, — blame 
yourself,  not  in  your  infirmity,  but  only  in  your  sin.  See, 
if  possible,  exactly  what  and  where  your  blame  is,  and  let 
your  repentances  and  confessions  exactly  cover  it.  Prob- 
ably you  did  not  fall  consentingly,  but  you  seem  to  have 
been  thrown  by  your  own  distracted,  half  illuminated 
mind.  You  struggled  hard,  and  with  so  great  self-exer- 
tion, not  unlikely,  that  you  fell  out  of  feith,  and  were  even 
floored  by  your  struggles  themselves.  You  fanned  the 
love  so  violently  that  you  rather  blew  out  than  kindled 
the  flame.  The  harder  you  lifted,  the  deeper  in  mire  you 
sunk.  At  last,  you  gave  over  with  a  sigh,  and  fell  back 
as  one  quite  spent.  And  now,  it  may  be  that  you  even 
look  upon  the  whole  subject  of  spiritual  religion  with  a 
kind  of  dread.  It  wears  a  painful  and  distasteful  look. 
And  yet  there  is  one  bright  spot  in  the  retrospect ;  viz., 
the  gentle,  ingenuous,  heavenly  feeling,  the  peace,  the 
cleanness,  the  fullness  of  heart,  the  liberty  in  God  and  hia 
love,  the  luminous,  inward  glory ;  and,  if  you  could  see 
nothing  else  but  this,  how  attractive  the  remembered  bless- 
edness would  be;  the  more  attractive  for  the  emptiness 
you  have  since  experienced,  and  the  general  distaste  of  the 
world,  which  so  often  afflicts  you.  Nay,  with  all  the  dis- 
respect you  may  possibly  put  on  this  former  experience,  it 
is  precisely  this  and  the  opening  of  your  higher  nature  io 
it,  that  makes  a  great  part  of  the  distaste  you  now  suffer 
toward  the  world.     What  a  call  then  have  you  in  this  joy 


2G'2     PROBLEM    OF    CHRISTIAN    EXPERIENCE. 

remembered!  And  God  indorses  it,  offering  to  seal  all  tliia 
upon  you,  and  more.  He  blames  you  not  for  any  thing 
unavoidable,  he  only  blames  you  for  your  letting  go  of 
Him,  and  your  final  surrender  of  the  struggle.  This  he 
waits  to  forgive.  He  will  do  more,  he  will  even  make 
what  is  blameable  in  your  sad  loss  and  defection  turn  to 
your  account.  Can  you  ask  encouragement  to  a  new  effort 
better  than  this?  Come  back  then,  0,  thou  prodigal,  to 
thy  father!  Quit  thy  sad  folly  and  emptiness,  thy  re- 
proaches of  soul,  thy  diseased  longings,  and  thy  restless 
sighs.  Return  again  to  thy  God,  and  give  thyself  to  him, 
in  a  final  and  last  saci'ifice.  Ask  the  restored  revelation. 
Conquer  again,  as  Christ  will  help  you,  the  original  \o\e^ 
ill  that  to  abi  le  and  rest. 


XIV, 

THE   LOST   PURITY   RESTC  KED. 

1  John,  iii.  3. — "  And  every  man  that  hath  ihii  /lope  in 
him  purifieih  himself^  even  as  he  is  purej" 

This  hope,  as  the  apostle  is  speaking,  is  a  hope  to  be 
with  Christ;  and  as  Christ  is,  in  highest  verity,  the  mani- 
festation of  God  who  is  iniinite  purity,  it  is  a  hope  to  be 
concomitant  with  purity,  the  purity  of  Christ  and  of  God; 
which  again  is  but  a  hope  of  being  entered  into,  and  per- 
fectly answerable  to,  the  purity  of  God.  And  then  it 
follows,  yet  again,  that  every  man  that  hath  this  hope  in 
him  will  be  purifying  himself  here  on  earth,  even  accord- 
ing to  the  purity  of  Christ  with  whom  he  hopes  to  be. 

Accordingly  the  subject  raised  for  our  consideration  ig 
purity  of  sovl,  as  the  aim  of  spiritual  redemption^  and  the 
legitimate  issue  of  Christian  experience.     Let  us  see — 

I.  If  we  can  form  a  fit  conception  of  what  purity  is.  li 
we  refer  to  examples,  it  is  the  character  of  angels  and  of 
God — the  simplicity,  the  unstained  excellence,  the  un- 
dimmed  radiance,  the  spotless  beauty.  Or  it  is  God  as 
represented  here  on  eai-th,  in  the  sinless  and  perfect  life  of 
Christ ;  his  superiority  to  sense  and  passion  and  the  opin 
ions  of  the  world,  his  simple  devotion  to  truth,  his  unam- 
bitious goodness,  his  holy,  harmless,  un  defiled  life,  as  beirg 
with,  yet  separate  from  sinners. 

If  we  go  to  analogy,  purity  is,  in  character,  what  trans 


264  THE     LOST    PURITY    RESTORED. 

parency  is  in  the  crystal.  It  is  water  flowing,  unniixeQ 
and  clear,  from  the  mountain  spring.  Or  it  is  the  white  of 
snow.  Or  it  is  the  clear  open  heaven,  through  which  the 
sparkling  stars  appear,  hidden  by  no  mist  of  obstruction. 
Or  it  is  thj  pure  light  itself  in  which  they  shine.  A  pure 
character  is  that,  in  mind  and  feelmg  and  spirit  of  life, 
which  all  these  clear,  untarnished  symbols  of  nature,  im- 
age,  io  their  lower  and  merely  sensible  sphere,  to  our  out- 
ward eye. 

Or  if  we  describe  purity  by  reference  to  contrasts,  then 
it  is  a  character  opposite  to  all  sin,  and  so  to  most  of  what 
we  see  in  the  corrupted  character  of  mankind.  It  is  inno- 
cent, just  as  man  is  not.  It  is  incorrupt  as  opposed  to  pas- 
sion, self-seeking,  foul  imaginations,  base  desires,  enslaved 
affections,  a  bad  conscience  and  turbid  currents  of  thought. 
Lt  is  the  innocence  of  infancy  without  the  stain — that  inno- 
cence matured  into  the  spotless,  positive  and  eternally  es- 
tablished holiness  of  a  responsible  manhood  It  is  man 
lifted  up  out  of  the  mires  of  sin,  washed  as  a  spirit  into 
the  clean  white  love  and  righteousness  of  his  redeemer, 
and  so  purged  of  himself  as  to  be  man,  without  any  thing 
of  the  sordid  and  defiled  character  of  a  sinner. 

Or  wo  may  set  forth  the  idea  of  purity,  under  a  refer- 
ence to  the  modes  of  causes.  In  the  natural  world,  as  for 
example  in  the  heavens,  causes  act  in  a  manner  that  is 
iinconfused  and  regular.  All  things  proceed  according  to 
their  law.  Hence  the  purity  of  the  firmament.  In  the 
world  of  causes,  it  is  the  scientific  ideal  of  purity  that 
events  transpire  normally,  according  to  the  constitativa 
order  and  original  law  of  the  creation.  Bat  as  soon  as  a 
soul  transgresses,  it  breaks  out  of  order,  and  its  whole  m- 
^crual   working    becomes   mixed,   confused,    tumultuous 


THE     LOST     PURITY     RESTORED.  26.j 

corrupt.  Abiding  in  God,  all  its  internal  motions  would 
proceed  in  the  simple,  harmonious,  orderly  progress  ot  the 
firmament,  and  it  would  be  a  pure  soul.  Plunging  into 
sin,  it  breaks  order  and  falls  into  mixtures  of  causes  in  all 
its  actions.  The  passions  are  loose  upon  the  reason,  the 
will  overturns  the  conscience,  the  desires  become  unruly, 
the  thoughts  are  some  of  them  .''jUggested  by  the  natural 
law  of  the  mind,  and  some  are  thrust  in  by  the  disorders  of 
vitiated  feeling,  corruj»t  imagination,  disordered  memory, 
and  morbid  impulse.  In  short,  the  soul  is  in  a  mixture 
of  causes,  and  so  out  of  all  purity.  The  man  is  corrupted, 
as  we  say,  and  the  word  corrupt  means  broken  together^  dis- 
solved into  mixtu]-e  and  confusion— which  is  the  opposite 
of  purity. 

Or  finally,  we  may  describe  purity  absolutely  as  it  is 
when  viewed  in  its  own  positive  quality.  And  here  it  is 
chastity  of  soul,  that  state  of  the  spiritual  nature  in  which 
it  is  seen  to  have  no  contacts,  or  affinities,  but  such  as  fall 
within  the  circle  of  unforbidden  joy  and  uncorrupted 
pleasure.  It  is  unsensual,  superior  to  the  dominion  of  pas- 
sion, living  in  the  pleasures  of  the  mind  and  of  goodness, 
devoted  in  its  virgin  love,  to  the  converse  of  truth  only, 
and  inaccessible  to  evil.  Absolute  purity  is  untemptable, 
as  in  God.  Adam  therefore  was  never  m  absolute  purity. 
His  purity  was  more  negative  than  positive.  He  was  in- 
nocent, he  had  not  sinned;  but  for  want  of  an  established 
positive  purity,  he  was  ready  to  be  tempted  and  open  to 
temptation.  But  if  he  is  now  among  the  glorified,  he  is 
ia  absolute  purity  because  he  is  untemptable.  Real  chas- 
tity is  that  which  can  not  know  temptation,  and  this  la 
what  we  mean  b}'-  absolute  purity.  It  puts  the  soul  as 
truly  asunder  and  apart  from  the  reach  of  evil  suggea 

23 


2o6  THE     LOST     PURITY     RESTOREl). 

lion  as  God  himself  is,  in  the  glorious  chastitj    of  his 
lioliness. 

In  all  these  methods  we  make  so  many  distinct  approaches 
to  the  true  idea  of  spiritual  purity.  Distant  as  the  charac- 
ter is  from  any  thing  we  know  in  this  sad  world  of  defile- 
ment and  corrupted  life,  still  it  is  the  aim  and  purpose  ot 
Christian  redemption,  as  I  now  proceed — 

II.  To  show,  to  raise  us  up  into  the  state  of  complete 
purity  before  God.  The  call  of  the  word  is, — Come  now 
and  let  as  reason  together,  saith  the  Lord,  though  your 
sins  be  as  scarlet  they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow ;  though 
the  J  be  red  like  crimson  they  shall  be  as  wool.  And  it  is 
curious,  to  observe,  when  we  read  the  scripture,  what  an 
apparatus  of  cleansing  God  appears  to  have  set  in  array 
for  the  purification  of  souls; — sprinklings,  washings,  bap- 
tisms of  water  and,  what  are  more  searching  and  more 
terribly  energetic  purifiers,  baptisms  of  fire;  fierce  meltings 
also  as  of  silver  in  the  refiner's  crucible;  purifyiugs  of  the 
flesh  and  purgings  of  the  conscience;  lustrations  of  blood, 
even  of  Christ's  own  blood ;  washings  of  the  word,  and 
washings  of  regeneration  by  the  Holy  Ghost.  It  would 
seem,  on  looking  at  the  manifold  array  of  cleansing  ele- 
ments, applications,  gifts  and  sacraments,  as  if  God  had 
undertaken  it  as  the  great  object  and  crowning  mercy  of 
his  reign,  to  effect  a  solemn  purgation  of  the  world.  We 
seem,  as  we  read,  to  see  him  summoning  up  all  angels  and 
ministers  of  his  will  and  instruments  of  his  power,  and 
Bending  them  out  in  commission  to  cleanse  the  sin  of  the 
world,  or  even  to  wash  the  defiled  planet  itself  into  purity. 

Or,  if  we  observe  more  directly  what  is  said  concerning 
the   particular  object  of  Christ's  mission  as   a  work  cf 


THE     LOST     PURITY     RESTORED.  267 

redemption,  it  is  plainly  declared  that  he  gave  himself  for 
ihe  church, — That  he  might  sanctify  and  cleanse  it  witb 
the  washing  of  water  by  the  word,  that  he  might  present 
it  unto  himself  a  glorious  church,  not  having  spot  or  wrm- 
klc  or  any  such  thing,  but  that  it  should  be  holy  and  withr 
O'U  blemish.  And  then  again  the  disciple  himself  ^Aho 
ha,s  embraced  the  Lord,  in  that  which  is  the  chief  mercy 
and  last  end  of  his  mission,  will  purify  himself,  it  is  de- 
clared,  even  as  Christ  is  pure ;  that  is,  if  I  rightly  under- 
stand the  language  of  the  text,  he  will  be  engaged  to  pu- 
rify himself,  endeavoring  after  purity,  such  as  Christ  him- 
self reveals.  It  is  not  intended,  I  suppose,  to  afl&rm  thai 
every  disciple,  in  the  Christian  hope,  has  actually  become 
as  pure  as  Christ,  but  only  that  this  is  his  end  or  mark. 

But  a  question  rises  here  of  great  practical  significance, 
viz.,  whether,  by  a  due  improvement  of  the  means  offered 
in  Christ,  or  by  any  possible  faith  in  him,  it  is  given  us  to 
attain  to  a  state  which  can  fitly  be  called  purity,  or  which 
is  to  itself  a  state  consciously  pure? 

To  this,  I  answer  both  yes  and  no.  There  may  be  a 
Christian  purity  that  is  related  to  the  soul  as  investiture, 
or  as  a  condition  superinduced,  which  is  not  of  it,  or  in  it, 
as  pertaining  to  its  own  quality,  or  to  the  cast  of  its  own 
habit.  Christ,  in  other  words,  may  be  so  completely  put 
01  that  the  whole  consciousness  may  be  of  him,  and  all 
the  motions  of  sins  give  way  to  the  dominating  efficacy  of 
hi3  harmonious  and  perfect  mind  ;  when,  at  the  same  time, 
the  subject  viewed  in  himself,  or  in  the  contents  and  modes 
of  causes  in  his  own  personality,  is  disordered,  broken, 
mixed,  chaotic,  and  widely  distant  still  from  real  purity. 
The  point  may  be  illustrated  by  a  supposition.  Let  a  mar 
habitually  narrow  and  mean  in  his  dispositions,  fall  intc 


268  THE     LOST     PUEITY     RESTORED. 

tlie  S(>jietj  of  a  great  and  powerful  nature  in  some  one 
.listinguislied  for  the  magnanimity  of  his  impulses.  Lei 
tljis  nobler  being  be  accepted  as  his  friend,  trusted  in,  loved 
admired,  so  as  to  virtually  infold  and  subordinate  the  mean 
person,  as  long  as  he  is  with  him,  to  his  own  spirit.  This, 
aL  least  we  can  imagine,  whether  any  such  example  ever 
occurred  or  not.  Now  it  will  be  seen  that,  as  long  as  this 
nobler  natire  is  side  by  side  with  the  other,  it  becomes  a 
kind  of  investiture,  clothes  it,  as  it  were,  with  its  own  im- 
pulses and  even  puts -it  in  the  sense  of  magnanimity. 
Consciously  now  the  mean  man  is  all  magnanimous ;  for 
his  mean  thoughts  are,  by  the  supposition,  drunk  up  ;iiid 
lost  in  the  abysses  of  the  nobler  nature  he  clings  to.  ILe 
is  magnanimous  by  investiture ;  that  is,  by  the  occujtancy 
of  another,  who  clothes  him  with  his  own  characters.  But 
if  you  ask  v/hat  he  is  in  his  own  personal  habit,  cast,  or 
quality,  he  is  little  different,  possibly,  from  what  he  was 
before.  He  has  had  the  consciousness  waked  up  in  him 
of  a  generous  life  and  feeling,  which  is  indeed  a  great  boon 
to  his  meagre  nature,  and  if  he  could  be  kept,  for  long 
years,  in  the  mold  of  this  superinduced  character,  he  would 
bo  gi'adually  assimilated  to  it.  But  if  the  better  nature 
wc'/e  to  be  soon  withdrawn  by  a  separation,  he  would  fall 
back  into  the  native  meanness  of  his  own  proper  person, 
and  be  what  he  was  with  onlj^  slight  modifications. 

.N"  >w  Christ,  in  his  glorious  and  divine  purity,  is  that 
b«jtter  nature  whicli  has  power,  if  we  believe  in  him  with 
'I  total  all -subjecting  faitli,  to  invest  us  with  a  complete 
consciousness  of  puritj^,  to  bring  every  thought  into  cap- 
tivit}"  to  his  own  incorruptible  order  and  chastity-.  He  ia 
such  a  cause  upon  us,  when  so  received,  that  all  our  mixed 
modes  of  causes,  wiU  le  subjected  to  the  interior  chinio  of 


THE     LOST     PURITY     RESTOEED.  269 

his  own  all  perfect  harmony.  Our  consciousness  even  i? 
cast  in  the  molds  of  his ;  for  he  is  so  effectually  put  on, 
that  he  dominates  in  the  whole  movement  of  our  experi- 
ence. This,  at  least,  is  conceivable  as  being  the  permitied 
or  possible  triumph  of  faith  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  re- 
garding what  we  are  in  ourselves  and  apart  from  this  di 
vine  investiture,  we  are  very  far  from  any  such  purity 
Still  the  case  is  varied  here  from  that  which  we  just  now 
supposed,  in  the  ftxct  that  the  assimilation  of  the  subject 
party  will  be  more  rapid  and  certain,  because  of  the  agency 
of  the  Spirit  concurring  with  the  power  of  Christ;  and 
also  in  the  fact  that  the  union  established  by  faith  i^:^  more 
interior  and  more  indissoluble.  Pie  may,  therefore  ha  ve  the 
Spirit  to  work  in  him  and  the  power  of  Christ  to  rest  upon 
him  in  such  measure  as  to  be  kept  in  the  conscious  chastity 
of  Christ's  own  love,  year  by  year,  and  be  wrought  into  a 
continually  approaching  assimilation  to  it. 

The  answer  thus  given  to  the  question  raised  agrees  at 
all  points,  it  will  be  seen,  with  the  scripture,  and  particu- 
larly with  what  is  taught  by  our  apostle  in  close  connec- 
tion with  my  text.  On  one  side  of  it  he  writes, — If  we  say 
that  we  have  no  sin,  we  deceive  ourselves,  and  the  truth  is 
not  in  us ;  for,  however  deep  we  are  in  our  union  to  Christ, 
OT  however  completely  we  are  invested  in  his  purity,  we 
are  not  in  oui'selves  restored,  in  the  same  degree,  to  the 
character  o:  it.  We  are  in  a  kind  of  anticipative  purity, 
which  is  becoming  personal  to  us  and  a  fixed  habit ;  we 
are  living  to  be  pure,  as  Christ  is ;  but,  regarded  as  apart 
frcmi  him,  the  work  is  only  initiated, — we  still  have  sin, 
wo  are  broken,  disordered,  and  corrupt.  For,  as  long  as 
we  abide  m  Christ,  our  action  is  from  .him,  not  from  out 
own  coirupt  and  broken  nature;   exactly  as  the  apostle 


270  THE    LOST    PQKITY    RESVORiSD. 

writes,  on  the  other  side  of"  the  text,  or  immediatelj'  after :  - 
Whosoever  abideth  in  him  sinneth  not.    He  lives  in  a  con- 
sciousness, that  is,  which  is  not  sustained  by  his  own  mere 
humanly  personal  character,  but  by  the  sense  of  another, 
and  the  righteousness  that  is  of  God  by  faith  upon  him. 

The  result,  consequently,  is  that,  being  thus  held  up  by 
the  attachment  to  him  of  Christ's  afiinities,  he  is  growing 
like  him, — pure  as  he  is  pure.  The  diseased  qualities 
gendered  in  him,  heretofore,  are  being  gradually  purged 
away.  His  passions  are  being  tamed  to  order  and  refined 
to  God's  pure  dominion.  His  imaginations  settle  into  the 
truth,  and  grow  healthy  and  clear.  The  fashion  of  this 
world  is  not  only  broken,  as  it  was  in  the  first  moment  of 
God's  discovery  to  his  heart,  but  the  memories  of  it  fade 
the  diseased  longings  are  healed,  so  that  all  his  old  affini- 
ties, in  this  direction,  will  at  last  be  extirpated.  All  the 
mixed  causes  involved  in  sin  or  spiritual  impurity  will  fall 
into  chime,  and  all  the  foul  currents  of  evil  suggestion  be 
cleared  to  a  transparent  flow.  The  mind  will  grow  regu- 
lar and  simple  in  its  action,  ceasing  to  be  vexed,  as  it  was, 
by  noxious  mixtures  of  fear,  selfishness,  doubt,  and  tempt- 
ation. And  so  all  the  inbred  corruptions  of  its  bad  state — 
that  is,  those  which  remain  over  as  effects  of  sin,  after  sin  as 
a  voluntary  life  is  forsaken — will  be  gradually  purged  away. 
To  illustrate  how  far  it  is  possible  for  this  purifying 
work  to  go  on  in  the  present  life,  I  will  simply  say  that 
the  very  currents  of  thought,  as  it  is  propagated  in  the 
mind,  may  beconu  so  purified  that,  when  the  will  does  not 
interfere,  and  the  i.iind  is  allowed,  for  an  hour,  to  run  in  its 
own  way,  without  hindrance,  one  thing  suggesting  another 
as  in  revery,  there  may  yet  be  no  evil,  wicked,  or  foul  sug 
gestion  thrust  into  it.     Or  in  the  state  of  sleep,  where  th« 


THE    LOST    PURITY    RESTORED.  271 

will  never  interferes,  but  the  thoughts  rush  on  by  a  lay) 
of  their  own,  the  mixed  causes  of  corruption  may  be  so 
for  cleared  away,  and  the  soul  restored  to  such  simplicity 
and  purenesa,  that  the  dreams  will  be  only  dreams  of  love 
and  beauty ;  peaceful,  and  clear,  and  happy ;  somewhat  aa 
we  may  imagine  the  waking  thoughts  of  angels  to  be. 
There  have  been  Christians,  who  have  testified  to  thi^ 
heavenly  sereneness  of  thought,  out  of  their  own  experi- 
ence. And  precisely  this  is  what  Paul  refers  to,  when  he 
speaks  of  bi-inging  into  captivity  every  thought  to  the 
obedience  of  Christ.  When  the  mixed  causes  are  taken 
captive  in  the  soul,  and  Chinst  is  the  law  of  the  whole  action, 
then,  in  the  same  degree,  simplicity  returns  and  purity. 

Still  the  body  is  dead  because  of  sin.  Disease,  corrup- 
tion, so  fer,  at  least,  remain,  and  therefore  it  doth  not  yet 
appear  what  v;^e  shall  be.  Perfect,  absolute  purity  it  is 
hardly  supposable  may  be  realized  here.  Enough  to  know 
that  there  need  be  no  limit  to  the  process,  while  life  re- 
mains, and  that,  when  life  ends,  it  may  be  gloriously  ap- 
proximated to  the  state  of  completeness. 

Or  perhaps  some  one  of  my  audience  may  just  here 
raise  a  doubt  from  the  other  side, — whether  absolute 
purity  can  ever  be  restored.  Can  the  soul's  chastity,  once 
lost,  ever  be  recovered?  Having  once  sinned,  can  it  ever 
become  pure  in  the  absolute  and  perfect  sense,  as  if  it  nad 
not?  Let  no  such  doubt  be  harbored.  We  must  not  bo 
too  much  under  the  power  of  social  impressions.  If  so 
ciety  pronounces  on  the  irredeemable  loss  of  fallen  chasti- 
ty, society  has  no  mercy ;  and  pride,  as  well  as  truth,  enters 
mto  its  relentless  judgments.  Be  this  as  it  may,  God  has 
undertaken  to  redeem  the  fall  of  sin,  and  restore  the  sou) 
Lc  purity  as  a  condition  of  absolute  holiness.     Browned  by 


272  THE    LOST    PURITY    RESTOBJ^D. 

SID,  mottled  by  the  stains  of  a  corrupted  life,  be  lias  under 
taken  still  to  give  it  the  whiteness  of  snow.  True  he  can 
not  undo  what  has  been  done.  The  sin  is  committed,  the 
corruption  has  followed.  Therefore,  if  there  were  an} 
prudishness  in  angelic  minds,  thev  might  well  enough  re 
fuse  forever  to  own  us  as  beings  intact  by  sin.  And  yet 
(iod  can  raise  us  to  a  purity  that  is  higher  even  than  thf 
pui'ity  of  an  intact  virtue.  He  can  make  us  untemptably 
pure,  pure  even  as  Christ  is  pure,  which  Adam  certainly 
was  not.  What  we  call  purity  in  him,  prior  to  his  sin,  ia 
beautiful  and  lovely ;  a  pure  white  lily  blooming  in  the 
creation's  morning ;  but  it  is  frail  also  and  temptable,  and, 
before  the  noon  is  up,  it  hangs  upon  a  broken  stem,  dis- 
honored and  torn,  God  can  raise  us  up,  if  not  to  the  same, 
yet  to  a  much  higher,  and  stronger,  and  more  absolute  chasti- 
ty, the  participation,  viz,,  of  his  own  unchangeable  holiness! 
Having  this  view  of  Christ  and  his  gospel,  as  the  plan 
of  God  for  restoring  men  to  a  complete  spiritual  purity; 
seeing  that  he  invites  us  to  this,  gives  us  means  and  aids 
to  realize  this,  and  yields  to  them  that  truly  desire  it  a  hope 
so  high  as  this,  I  proceed  — 

III.  To  inquire  in  what  manner  we  may  promote  our 
advancement  toward  the  state  of  purity,  and  finally  have 
it  in  complete  realization. 

And,  first  of  all,  we  must  set  our  heart  upon  it.  We 
must  learn  to  conceive  the  beauty,  and  glory,  and  the  es- 
oential  beatitude  of  a  pure  state.  We  must  see  the  degra- 
dation, realize  tlie  bitterness,  confusion,  disorder,  instabili- 
ty, and  conflict  of  a  mixed  state,  where  all  the  causes  of 
internal  action  are  thrown  out  of  God's  original  law.  We 
must  learn  to  conceive,  on  the  other  hand,  -  and  what  car 


THE     LOST    PURITy     RESTORED.  278 

be  more  difficult — the  dignity,  the  beauty,  the  iniinitel'S 
peaceful  and  truly  divine  elevation  of  a  pure  soul.  Noth 
in^  is  more  distant  from  us,  in  our  unreflective,  headlong 
Btaie  of  carnality  and  self-devotion,  than  to  conceive  purity. 
It  is  high  like  God,  and  we  can  not  attain  unto  it.  And 
therefore  our  desire  after  it  can  not  be  duly  inflamed,  or 
Vdndled ; — as  it  must  be,  if  we  are  ever  to  obtain  it. 
Labor  then,  with  all  closest,  most  persistent  application,  to 
conceive  purity ; — what  it  would  be  to  you,  if  your  soul 
were  in  it;  the  consciousness  of  it;  the  essential  peace; 
the  elevation  above  all  passion  and  unregulated  impulse ; 
the  singleness  and  simplicity  of  it;  the  glowing  shapes 
and  glorified  visions  of  a  pure  imagination ;  the  oneness 
of  your  soul  with  God;  the  conscious  participation  of 
what  is  highest  in  God,  his  untemptable  chastity  in  good- 
ness and  truth.  Work  at  this  idea  of  purity,  turn  it  round 
and  round  in  your  contemplations,  reach  after  it,  pray 
yourself  into  it,  and  have  it  thus  as  the  highest  conceiv- 
able good,  the  real  good  yon  seek, — to  be  pure.  Let  it  be 
your  life  to  envy  God's  purity,  if  I  may  so  speak ;  for,  if 
tliere  be  any  holy,  and  blessed,  and  fruitful  kind  of  envy. 
It  is  this.  Have  it  as  the  accepted  aim  and  effort  of  youi 
life,  to  be  assimilated  thus  in  purity  to  God ;  for  when  such 
a  desire  becomes  practically  fixed  in  you,  the  way  will 
certainly  be  found.  The  way  to  purity  is  difficult  oi 
discovery  only  to  those  who  practically  do  not  care  to 
find  it. 

One  of  your  early  discoveries  will  be,  that  the  way  to 
attain  to  parity  of  soul  is,  not  to  forsake  the  world  and  re- 
tire fi-om  it.  This  was  the  error  that  originally  carrio<l 
men  and  women  into  remote  deserts  and  caves,  and  final!  v 
built  up  monasteries  and  instituted  vows  of  singh  lif\  o! 


274  THE    LOST    rURlTY    RESTORED 

celibacy.  It  was  to  get  away  from  the  world,  and  have 
nothing  to  think  of  but  God,  and  so  to  present  the  sonl  as 
a  chaste  virgin  to  Christ,  It  was  called  the  state  of  spirit- 
ual chastity,  and  the  souls  thus  taken  out  of  the  world 
were  supposed  to  be  specially  pure  and  incorrupt,  or  in  r 
certain  way  to  be.  It  was  as  if  the  church  had  prayeri^ 
directly  against  Christ's  word,  to  be  taken  out  of  the  world. 
And  then,  what  a  horrible  imposture  did  this  unchristian 
gospel  of  purity  prove  itself,  ere  long,  to  be!  No,  the 
only  real  and  truly  christian  way  of  purity  is  to  live  in  the 
open  world  and  not  be  of  it,  and  keep  the  soul  unspotted 
from  it.  There  are  no  fires  that  will  melt  out  our  drossy 
and  corrupt  particles  like  God's  refining  fires  of  duty  and 
irial,  living,  as  he  sends  us  to  live,  in  the  open  field  of  the 
world's  sins  and  sorrows,  its  plausibilities  and  lies,  its  per- 
secutions, animosities,  and  fears,  its  eager  delights  and  bit- 
ter wants. 

St,  Francis  de  Sales  had  been  able,  in  his  knowledge  of 
the  cloistered  men  and  the  cloistered  life,  to  see  how  neces- 
sary it  is  for  the  soul  to  be  aired  in  the  outward  exposurea 
of  the  world,  and,  if  we  do  net  stop  to  question  the  fects 
of  his  illustrations,  no  one  has  spoken  of  this  necessity 
with  greater  force  and  beauty  of  conception.  "  Many  per- 
sons believe,"  he  sa3'-s,  "that,  as  no  beast  dares  taste  the 
seed  of  the  herb  Palma  Christi,  so  no  man  ought  to  aspire 
to  the  })alm  of  christian  piety,  as  long  as  he  lives  in  the 
.'j;istlc  of  temporal  affairs.  Now,  to  such  I  shall  prove 
that,  as  the  mother-pearl  fish  lives  in  the  sea  without  re- 
ceiving a  drop  of  salt  water;  and  as,  toward  the  Chelido- 
rjian  islands,  springs  of  fresh  water  may  be  found  in  the 
midst  of  the  sea;  and  as  the  fire-fly  passes  through  th^ 
flamcvS,  without  burning  its  wings;  so  a. vigorous  and  rose- 


THE    LOST    PURITY     KESTOllED.  275 

iute  soul  may  live  in  the  worki,  without  being  infec^ted 
with  any  of  its  humors,  may  discover  sweet  springs  of  pietj 
amidst  its  salt  waters,  and  fly  among  the  flames  of  earth Ij 
concupiscence,  without  burning  the  wings  of  the  holy  de- 
sires of  a  devout  life."  It  was  only  forbidden  him  to  say, 
v\  hat  is  not  forbidden  me,  that  here  alone^  in  these  common 
ex])v->sures  of  work  and  contacts  of  duty,  is  true  chiistian 
purity  itself  successfully  cultivated.  Alas!  for  the  man 
who  is  obliged  to  be  shut  ap  to  himself,  as  in  the  convent 
life,  to  face  his  own  lusts,  disorders,  and  passions,  and 
strangle  them  in  direct  conflict,  with  nothing  else  to  do  or 
to  occupy  the  soul. 

Having  this  determined,  that  he  who  will  purify  himself 
as  Christ  is  pure  must  live  in  the  world,  then  one  thing 
more  is  needed,  viz.,  that  we  live  in  Christ,  and  seek  to  be 
as  closely  and  intimately  one  with  him  as  possible.  And 
this  includes  more  things  than  the  time  will  suffer  me  to 
name. 

First,  a  willingness  wholly  to  cease  from  the  old  man,  9^ 
corrupt,  in  order  that  a  completely  new  man  from  Christ 
may  be  formed  in  you ;  for,  if  you  will  halve  the  sacri- 
fice and  retain  what  poilion  is  safe  or  convenient  of  the 
old  life  of  nature,  it  is  no  such  thing  as  purity  that  you 
propose,  nothing  but  a  baptizing  of  mixture  and  defile- 
ment. I  call  it  a  new  man  that  you  want,  after  the  scrip- 
ture method,  because  the  character  is  the  man  more  truly 
than  any  thing  else,  and  there  is  no  purity  but  to  be  com- 
pletely new.  Therefore  the  old  must  as  completel} 
die, — whi-^.h  it  will  not,  if  we  secretly  nourish  and  cling 
to  it. 

Secondly,  the  life  must  be  determined  implicitly  by  the 
faith  of  Christ.     Purifying  their  hearts  by  faith,  says  ai 


276  THE    LOST    PUEITY    RESTORED. 

apostls;  well  understanding  that  faith  in  Christ  as  the  tnie 
sacrifice  and  gracp:,  is  the  only  power  that  can  purge  the 
conscience  from  dead  woi-ks  to  serve  the  living  God  in 
purity.  It  is  faith  only  that  can  truly  appropriate  Christ 
as  a  Saviour,  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost,  and  faith- 
ful to  cleanse  us  from  all  unrighteousness.  Then  agaiiL 
which  is  more,  if  possible,  it  is  faith  alone  that  enables  one 
to  t'mbrace  Christ  as  a  power,  and  live  in  the  society  of  hi.^ 
person ;  for  it  is  thus,  pre-eminently,  that  a  soul  may  be- 
come purified.  It  is  Christ  beheld,  with  face  unveiled,  re« 
fleeting  God's  own  beaut}^  and  love  upon  us,  as  in  a  glass, 
that  changes  us  from  glory  to  glory.  If  by  faith  we  go 
with  Christ;  if  we  bear  his  cross  in  duty  after  him ;  if  we 
hang  upon  his  words,  wrestle  with  him  in  his  agony,  die 
with  him  in  his  passion,  rise  with  him  in  his  resurrection ; 
in  a  word,  if  we  are  perfectly  insphered  in  his  so(jiety,  so 
as  to  be  of  it,  then  we  shall  grow  pure.  The  assimilating 
power  of  Christ,  when  faithfully  adhered  to  as  the  soul's 
divine  brother,  and  lived  with  and  lived  upon,  will  infalli- 
bly renovate,  transform,  and  purify  us.  The  result  is  just 
as  certain  as  our  oneness  or  society  with  him.  We  shall 
grow  pure  because  he  is.  The  glorious  power  of  his  char- 
acter and  life  will  so  invest  our  nature,  that  we  shall 
be  in  it  and  live  it.  It  is  only  they  that  talk  much  of 
faitlx,  meaning  by  it  the  faith  of  notions  and  opinions, 
and  not  the  faith  of  Jesus  as  a  personal  revelation, — 
these  only  it  is  who  can  not  be  purified  by  their  faith. 
Sometimes  they  even  have  it  as  their  merit,  judging  froxh 
their  confessions,  that  they  are  growing  more  and  more 
corrupt.  Having  that  faith  to  which  Jesus  is  personalis 
revealed,  you  can  be  conscious  of  a  growing  p  urity  of  soul, 
and  I  know  not  any  other  way.    God  forbid  that  you  shoaJd 


THE    LOST    PURITY    RESTORED.  27 

tbink  of  making  jiurity  for  yourj^elf,  or  by  any  operation 
on  yourself.  It  must  flow  into  you  from  above.  It  must 
be  the  new  man  that  is  created  in  Christ  Jesus, — created 
by  your  fiith,  as  receiving  of  him  and  of  his  fullness, 
grace  for  grace.  And  O,  tlic  dignity,  the  conscious  bies* 
edness  of  a  life  of  faith,  when  it  knows  in  itself,  or  dis- 
tinctly sees,  the  dixiiie  purity  forming  its  own  chaste  image 
of  love  and  truth  within ; — beholds  the  fine  linen,  clean 
and  white,  which  is  the  righteousness  of  the  saints  invest- 
ing the  soul,  as  a  robe  of  life  from  God!  In  such  u 
life  there  is  consciously  something  going  on,  which  an- 
swers to  the  great  errand  of  life  and  gives  it  the  seal  of 
blessing. 

A  gain,  passing  over  many  other  particulars,  I  will  simply 
draw  your  minds  a  little  closer  to  the  text  by  observing, 
as  included  in  the  general  idea  of  living  in  Christ,  a  look- 
ing forward  to  him  in  his  exalted  state,  and  an  habitual 
converse  with  him  there.  "  He  that  hath  this  hope  in  him," 
says  the  text ; — understanding  that  the  hope  of  being  with 
Christ,  and  seeing  him  as  he  is,  does  of  itself  draw  the  soul 
toward  his  purity.  I  say  not  that  we  are  to  be  looking 
away  to  heaven,  as  being  disgusted  with  the  world ;  much 
less  to  be  praising  heaven's  adoi'able  purity  in  high  words 
of  contrast,  as  if  to  excuse  or  atone  for  the  lack  of  al' 
purity  here.  I  only  sa}^  that  we  are  to  be  much  in  the 
meditation  of  Christ  as  glorified,  surrounded  with  the  glori- 
fied ;  to  let  our  mind  be  hallowed  by  its  pure  converse  and 
the  themes  in  which  it  dwells;  to  live  in  the  anticipation 
of  what  is  most  pure  in  the  universe,  as  being  what  we 
most  love  and  long  for  in  the  universe ;  and  so  we  ar*: 
to  be  raised  by  our  longings,  and  purified  with  Christ  bj 
tliC  hop?s  we  rest  upon  his  person.     This  hope,  tliis  reach 

24 


278  THE    LOST    PURITY    RESIORED. 

mg  upward  of  soul  to  Christ,  is  exactly  what  Paul  iiioaiia 
when  he  speaks  of  living  a  liie  that  is  hid  with  Christ  in 
God.  Whsn  a  soul  is  there  infolded,  hid  with  Christ  in 
the  recesses  of  God's  pure  majesty,  0,  what  airs  of  healtii 
breathe  upon  it  and  through  it!  how  vital  does  it  become, 
and  how  rapidly  do  the  mixed  causes  of  sin  settle  into  th<j 
transparent  flow  of  order  and  peace ! 
It  only  remains  to  j  ust  name — 

IV.  Some  of  the  signs  by  which  our  growth  in  purity 
may  be  known.  This  I  will  do  in  the  briefest  manner 
possible,  and  conclude. 

Fastidiousness  then,  I  will  first  of  all  caution  you,  is  not 
any  evidence  of  purity,  but  the  contrary.  A  fastidious 
character  is  one  that  shows,  by  excess  of  delicacy,  a  real 
defect  and  loss  of  it.  It  is  too  delicate  to  be  practical, 
simply  because  it  is  practically  indelicate  and  corrupt. 
Hence,  in  religion,  it  is  a  great  principle  that,  to  the  pure 
all  things  are  pure.  AVhen  any  disciple,  therefore,  »jalls  it 
purity  to  be  shocked  or  I'epelled  by  the  scripture  names  of 
sins,  or  the  practical  works  of  mercy  needed  in  a  world 
of  shame  and  defilement,  he  reveals  therein  a  bad  imagina- 
tion and  a  mind  that  is  itself  defiled.  No,  the  true  signs 
of  purity  are  these : — 

That  we  abide  in  the  conscious  light  of  God,  while  liv- 
ing in  a  world  of  defilement,  and  know  him  as  a  presence 
ti'ianife&ted  in  the  soul.  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  foj 
they  shall  see  God.     Purity  sees  God. 

A  good  conscience  signifies  the  same ;  for  the  conscience 
lik-Q  the  eye,  is  troubled  by  any  speck  of  defilement  anO 
W7"ong  that  falls  into  it. 

A  growing  sensibility  to  sin  signifies  the  same;  for,  if 


THE    LOST    PURITY    RESTORED.  279 

the  conscience  grows  peaceful  and  clear,  it  will  also  grovr 
tender  and  delicate. 

If  you  are  more  able  to  be  singular  and  toink  less  of  thi 
opinions  of  men,  not  in  a  scornful  way  but  in  love,  that 
again  shows  that  the  world's  law  is  losing  its  power  ovc  f 
you,  and  your  devotion  to  God  is  growing  more  single  ami 
true. 

Ijo  you  find  that  passion  is  submitting  itself  to  the  gei-tle 
reign  of  God  within  you,  losing  its  heat  and  fierceness, 
and  becoming  tamed  under  the  sweet  dominion  of  chris- 
tian love  ?     That  again  is  the  growth  of  purity. 

The  discovery  that  your  imagination  ceases  to  revel  in 
Q-nages  of  wrong,  revenge,  and  lust,  becoming  at  onct^ 
more  quiet  and  more  clear,  conceiving  God  and  Christ  aud 
anseen  worlds  of  purity,  with  greater  distinctness  and  sub- 
limity, and  roving,  as  by  a  divine  instinct,  among  the  eter 
nal  verities  and  transcendent  glories  of  a  perfect  state,  ask- 
ing there  to  be  employed  and  nowhere  else  with  so  great 
zest, — this  also  shows  that  a  high  and  sacred  affinity  for  what 
is  pure  is  growing  stronger  and  more  clear  within  you. 

So,  again,  if  your  feeling  reaches  after  heaven,  and  your 
longings  are  thitherward,  if  you  love  and  long  for  it  because 
chiefly  of  its  purity  ;  loosened  from  this  world  not  by  your 
wearinesses  and  disgusts,  which  all  men  suffer,  but  by  the 
positive  affinities  of  your  heart  for  what  is  best  and  purest 
above, — this  also  is  a  powerful  token  of  growing  purificatior^ 

Do  you  also  find  that  your  thoughts,  when  freest  one 
aiost  unrestrained,  are  yet  growing  simple,  orderly,  right, 
and  true,  interrupted  less  and  less  frequently  by  bad  oi 
wicked  suggestion? — then  you  have  in  this  a  most  convine 
ing  \nd  conclusive  proof,  that  you  are  being  delivei'ed  ol 
the  mixtures  and.  defilements  of  a  corrupted  nutnie. 


'280  THE    LOST    PURITY    RESTORED 

Or  again,  it  is  a  yet  more  simple  sign,  and  one  that  in- 
cludes, in  a  manner,  all  otLei's,  if  you  find  that  you  art 
deeper  and  deeper  in  the  love  of  Christ.  For,  if  Chris' 
spreads  himself  over  your  being,  and  }'ou  begin  to  l<no^^ 
nothing  else  and  wart  notliing  else;  if  you  lOve  him  foi 
liis  character,  as  the  only  perfect,  and  cleave  to  his  sinlesE 
life,  as  the  holiest,  and  loveliest,  and  grandest  miracle  c.f 
the  earth  ;  if  words  begin  to  faint  when  you  opeak  of  him, 
and  all  that  can  be  said  or  thought  looks  cheap  and  low, 
compared  with  what  he  is ;  then  it  is  most  certaiii  that  you 
are  growing  in  purity ;  for  the  growing  enlargement  of  your 
apprehensions  of  Christ  is  the  result  of  a  growing  purity, 
and  will  be  also  the  cause  of  a  purity  more  perfect  still. 

And  now,  my  brethren,  I  have  many  things  to  say,  but 
I  only  ask  whether  you  perceive,  by  signs  like  these,  that 
you  are  growing  pure?  That  you  believe  yourselves  to  bi! 
disciples  we  know, — that  is  easy ;  but  I  ask  you  here  seri- 
ously, before  God,  whether  you  find  that  your  religion  hm* 
any  purifying  power  ?  Is  it  a  baptism  ?  Is  it  a  finer'a 
fire?  Does  it  move  you  to  cry, — Create  in  me  a  clean 
heart,  0,  God  ?  True  piety,  brethren,  is  a  power,  and 
purity  is  the  result; — a  result,  as  I  have  shown  you,  that 
may  be  indefinitely  realized,  even  here  on  earth.  Is  it 
realized  in  you  by  the  signs  I  have  named?  You  hope 
in  Christ  that  you  shall  be  with  him,  and  see  him  as  he  is. 
0,  it  is  well,  the  most  elevating  hope,  the  most  inspirirg 
and  celestial  thought,  which  ever  fell  into  the  soul  of  a 
mortal !  I  only  ask  if  you  see  in  your  life,  in  the  practi- 
cal bent  of  your  works,  that  this  hope  has  verity  enough 
iu  you  to  take  hold  of  your  springs  of  action,  and  bring 
you  into  a  true  endeavor  after  Christ's  purity  ?  What  an 
opinion  then  will  you  be  seen  to  have  of  the  soul  when 


THE    LOST    PURITY    RESTORED.  281 

yoi  are  living  for  its  purity!  And  tlien,  wliat  3nbliinii5 
is  there  to  your  eye  in  that  state  of  glory,  in  wliich  your 
scnil  practically  dwelletli  among  its  kindred  spirits,  pure 
as  they,  and  all  as  Christ  is  pure.  These  are  they  tha 
have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood 
of  the  Ijamb, 

lilt  how  little  signifies  this  discourse  of  purity  to  very 
many  of  my  hearers!  I  well  understand  the  vacant 
dreamy  sound  of  such  discourses  before  the  concep' 
tion  of  purity,  and  the  sense  of  it  gotten  out  of  the  want, 
and  out  of  Christ  the  supply,  is  opened  to  the  soul.  Whal 
is  there  so  great  in  purity?  wdjo,  that  is  untouched  by 
God's  gracious  quickening,  cares  enough  for  purity  to  give 
the  word  an  earnest  significance?  It  has,  of  course,  no 
greatness  to  us,  because  the  fact  itself  is  a  lost  fact.  We 
C'ln  not  think  it,  because  it  is  really  gone  out  of  the 
/nind's  reach  and  knowledge.  But,  0,  when  once  the 
heart  feels  a  touch  of  its  divinity,  then  a  yearning  is 
wakened,  then  the  greatest  and  sublimest  thing  for  a 
mortal  is  the  unmixed  life !  a  soul  established  in  the 
eternal  chastity  of  truth  and  goodness!  0,  God!  who  of 
this  people  shall  ever  know  what  it  is?  I  can  not  tell 
them ;  thou  alone  canst  breathe  into  them,  and  set  in  their 
living  apprehension  a  truth  so  impossible  for  any  mere 
words  to  express ! 

This  only  I  can  testify,  as  God  has  given  me  words, 
(and  I  pray  God  to  show  you  their  meaning.)  that  the 
heaven  we  are  sent  here  to  prepare,  is  a  most  pure 
workl,  open  only  to  the  pure; — And  there  shall,  in  no- 
wise, enter  into  it  any  thing  that  defileth,  neither  whatso- 
ever worketh  abomination,  or  maketh  a  lie,  but  they  thai 
ai'e  written  in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life. 

24* 


XV. 

LIVING   TO   GOD   IN   SMALL  THINCJS. 

Luke  xvi.  10. — ''//e  tltat  is  faithful  in  that  ivhi'ch  is  leusi^ 
is  faithful  also  in  mu:h;  and  he  that  is  unjust  in  the  least,  u 
unjust  also  in  much." 

A  READINESS  to  do  some  great  thing  is  not  peculiar  to 
Naaman  the  Syrian.  There  are  many  Christians  who  can 
never  find  a  place  large  enough  to  do  their  duty.  The} 
must  needs  strain  after  great  changes,  and  their  works 
must  utter  themselves  by  a  loud  report.  Any  reform  iu 
society,  short  of  a  revolution,  any  improvement  in  charac- 
ter, less  radical  than  that  of  conversion,  is  too  faint  a  work, 
in  their  view,  to  be  much  valued.  Nor  is  it  merely  am- 
bition, but  often  it  is  a  truly  christian  zeal,  guarded  by 
no  sufficient  views  of  the  less  imposing  matters  of  life, 
which  betrays  men  into  such  impressions.  If  there  be 
any  thing,  in  fact,  wherein  the  views  of  God  and  the  im- 
pressions of  men  are  apt  to  be  at  total  variance,  it  is  in 
respect  to  the  solemnity  and  importance  of  ordinary  duties. 
The  hurtfulness  of  mistake  here,  is  of  course  very  great 
Trying  always  to  do  great  things,  to  have  extraordinary 
occasions  every  day,  or  to  pi-oduce  extraordinary  changes, 
when  small  ones  are  quite  as  much  needed,  ends,  of  course, 
in  defeat  and  dissipation.  It  produces  a  sort  of  religicn  in 
the  gross,  which  is  no  religion  in  particular.  Afy  text 
leails  me  to  speak — 


LIVING    TO    GOD.  283 

Of  the  importance  of  living  to  God  on  common  occasions 
md  in  small  tlwigs. 

He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least,  says  the  Savioul 
[&  faithful  also  in  muoh ;  and  he  that  is  unjust  in  the  least) 
is  unjust  also  in  much.  This  was  a  favorite  sentiment  with 
him.  In  his  sermon  on  the  mount,  it  was  thus  expressed — • 
Whosoever,  therefore,  shall  break  one  of  these  least 
commandments,  and  shall  teach  men  so,  he  shall  be  called 
the  least  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven ;  but  whosoever  shall 
do  and  teach  them,  the  same  shall  be  called  great  in  the 
kingdom  of  heaven.  And  when  he  rebuked  the  Pharisees, 
in  their  tything  of  mint,  anise,  and  cummin,  he  was  care- 
ful to  speak  very  guardedly — These  things  ought  ye  to 
have  done,  and  not  to  leave  the  other  undone.  It  will 
mstruct  IIS  in  prosecuting  this  subject — 

1.  To  notice  how  little  we  know  concerning  the  relative 
importance  of  events  and  duties.  We  use  the  terms  great 
and  small  in  speaking  of  actions,  occasions,  plans,  and  du- 
ties, only  in  reference  to  the  mere  outward  look  and  first 
hnprc^sion.  Some  of  the  most  latent  agents  and  mean 
looking  substances  in  nature,  are  yet  the  most  operative; 
but  yet,  when  we  speak  of  natural  objects,  we  call  them 
great  or  small,  not  according  to  their  opera tiveness,  but 
according  to  si/e,  count,  report,  or  show.  So  it  comes  t*". 
pass,  when  we  are  classing  actions,  duties,  or  occasions, 
tliat  we  call  a  certain  class  great  and  another  smal],  when 
really  the  latter  are  many  fold  more  important  and  influ- 
ential than  the  former.  We  may  suppose,  for  illustratioD, 
two  transactions  in  business,  as  different  in  their  nominal 
amount  as  a  million  of  dollars  and  a  single  dollar.  The 
former  we  call  a  large  transaction,  the  latter  a  p:^al]  pne. 


284:  LIVING    TO    GOD 

But  God  miglit  reverse  these  terms.  He  would  have  Uy. 
such  thought  as  the  counting  of  dollars.  He  would  look, 
first  of  all,  at  the  principle  involved  in  the  two  cases.  And 
here  he  would  discover,  not  unlikely,  that  the  nominally 
small  one,  owing  to  the  nature  of  the  transaction,  or  to  the 
humble  condition  of  the  parties,  or  to  their  peculiar  tein- 
per  and  disposition,  took  a  deeper  hold  of  their  being,  and 
did  more  to  settle  or  unsettle  great  and  everlasting  princi- 
ple, than  the  other.  Next,  perhaps,  he  would  look  at  the 
consequences  of  the  two  transactions,  as  developed  in  the 
great  future;  and  here  he  would  perhaps  discover  that 
the  one  which  seems  to  us  the  smaller,  is  the  hinge  ol 
vastly  greater  consequences  than  the  other.  If  the  dollars 
had  been  sands  of  dust,  they  would  not  have  had  less 
weight  in  the  divine  judgment. 

We  are  generally  ignorant  of  the  real  significance  of 
events,  which  we  think  we  understand.  Almost  every 
person  can  recollect  one  or  more  instances,  where  the  whole 
after-current  of  his  life  was  turned  by  some  single  word, 
or  some  incident  so  trivial  as  scarcely  to  fix  his  notice  at 
the  time.  On  the  other  hand,  many  great  crises  of  danger, 
many  high  and  stirring  occasions,  in  which,  at  the  time, 
his  total  being  was  absorbed,  have  passed  by,  leaving  no 
trace  of  effect  on  his  permanent  interests,  and  are  well 
nigh  vanished  from  his  memory.  The  conversation  of  the 
stage-coach  is  often  preparing  results,  which  the  solemn 
assembly  and  the  most  imposing  and  eloquent  rites  will 
fail  to  produce.  What  countryman,  knowing  the  dairy 
man's  daughter,  could  have  suspected  that  she  was  living 
tc  a  mightier  purpose  and  result,  than  almost  any  person 
m  the  church  of  God,  however  eminent?  The  outward 
of  occasions  and  duties  is.  in  fu'^t.  almost  no  index  of  thei? 


IN    SMALL    THINGS.  285 

importance;  and  our  judgments  concerning  what  is  greal 
and  small,  are  without  any  certain  validity.  These  terms 
as  we  use  them,  are,  in  fact,  only  words  of  outward  de- 
scription, not  words  of  definite  measurement. 

2.  It  is  to  be  observed,  that  even  as  the  world  judges 
gmall  things  constitute  almost  the  whole  of  life.  Tht 
great  days  of  the  year,  for  example,  are  few,  and  when 
they  come,  they  seldom  bring  any  thing  great  to  us.  And 
the  matter  of  all  common  days  is  made  up  of  little  things, 
or  ordinary  and  stale  transactions.  Scarcely  once  in  a  year 
does  any  thing  really  remarkable  befall  us.  If  I  were  to 
begin  and  give  an  inventory  of  the  things  you  do  in  any 
single  day,  your  muscular  motions,  each  of  which  is  accom- 
plished by  a  separate  act  of  will,  the  objects  you  see,  the 
words  you  utter,  the  contrivances  you  frame,  your  thoughts, 
passions,  gratifications,  and  trials,  many  of  you  would  not 
be  able  to  hear  it  recited  with  sobriety.  But  three  hun- 
dred and  sixty-five  such  dnjs  make  up  a  year,  and  a  year 
is  a  twentieth,  fiftieth,  or  seventieth  part  of  your  life. 
And  thus,  with  the  exception  of  some  few  striking  pass- 
ages, or  great  and  critical  occasions,  perhaps  not  more  than 
five  or  six  in  all,  your  life  is  made  up  of  common,  and  as 
men  are  wont  to  judge,  unimportant  things.  But  yet,  at 
the  end,  jon  have  done  up  an  amazing  work,  and  fixed 
an  amazing  result.  You  stand  at  the  bar  of  God,  and 
look  back  on  a  life  made  up  of  small  things — but  yet  a 
life,  how  momentous,  for  good  or  evil! 

iJ,  It  very  much  exalts,  as  well  as  sanctions,  the  view  I 
am  advancing,  that  God  is  so  observant  ol  small  things, 
lie  upholds  the  sparrow's  wing,  clothes  the  lily  with  his 
own  beautifying  hand,  and  numbers  the  hairs  of  his  child- 
ren     He  holds  the  balaufings  of  the  clouds.     He  maketf; 


286  LIVING    TO    GOD 

small  the  drops  of  rain.  It  astonishes  ah  thought  to  ob- 
serve the  minuteness  of  God's  government,  and  of  the 
natural  and  common  processes  which  he  carries  on  from 
day  to  day.  His  dominions  are  spread  out,  system  beyond 
system,  system  above  system,  filling  al'l  hight  and  lati- 
tude, but  he  is  never  lost  in  the  vast  or  magnificent.  ITg 
descends  to  an  infinite  detail,  and  builds  a  little  universe 
in  the  smallest  things.  He  carries  on  a  process  of  growth 
in  every  tree,  and  flower,  and  living  thing ;  accomplishes 
in  each  an  internal  organization  and  works  the  functions 
of  an  internal  laboratory,  too  delicate  all  for  eye  or  in. 
strament  to  trace.  He  articulates  the  members  and  im- 
pels the  instincts  of  every  living  mote  that  shines  in  the 
sunbeam.  As  when  we  ascend  toward  the  distant  and  the 
vast  so  when  we  descend  toward  the  minute,  we  see  his 
attention  acuminated,  and  his  skill  concentrated  on  his  ob- 
j«;ct;  and  the  last  discernible  particle  dies  out  of  our  sight 
with  the  same  divine  glory  on  it,  as  on  the  last  orb  that 
glimmers  in  the  skirt  of  the  universe.  God  is  as  careful 
to  finish  the  mote  as  the  planet,  botli  because  it  consists 
only  with  his  perfection  to  finish  every  thing,  and  because 
the  perfection  of  his  greatest  structures  is  the  result  of  per- 
fection in  their  smallest  parts  or  particles.  On  this  patience 
of  detail  rests  all  the  glory  and  order  of  the  created  uni- 
verse, spiritual  and  material.  God  could  thunder  the  yeai 
round  ;  he  could  shake  the  ribs  of  the  world  with  perpel  • 
ual  earthquakes;  he  could  blaze  on  the  air,  and  brueh  the 
affrighted  mountains,  each  day  with  his  comets.  But  if 
he  could  not  feed  the  grass  with  his  dew,  and  breath  into 
the  little  lungs  of  his  insect  family;  if  he  could  not  ex- 
pend his  care  on  small  things,  and  descend  to  an  interest 
in  their  perfection,  his  works  would  be  only  crude  and  dis 


IN    SMALL    THINGS.  287 

nted  raacliines,  compounded  of  mistakes  a  ad  malforma' 
l.ions,  without  beauty  and  order,  and  fitted  to  no  perfect 
'^nd. 

The  works  of  Christ  are,  if  possible,  a  still  brighter 
illustra-jon  of  the  same  truth.  Notwithstanding  the  vast 
Btreich  ftnd  compass  of  the  work  of  redemption,  it  is  a 
w,'ork  o*-  flie  most  humble  detail  in  its  style  of  execution 
The  Savii  'Ur  could  have  preached  a  sermon  on  tlie  mouni 
every  mo)  riing.  Each  night  he  could  have  stilled  the  sea, 
before  his  astonished  disciples,  and  shown  the  conscious 
waves  lulling  into  peace  under  his  feet.  He  could  have 
transfigured  himself  before  Pilate  and  the  astonished  mul- 
titudes of  the  temple.  He  could  have  made  visible  ascen- 
sions in  the  noon  of  every  day,  and  revealed  his  form 
standing  in  the  sun,  like  the  angel  of  the  apocalypse.  Bi\\ 
this  was  not  his  mind.  The  incidents  of  which  his  work 
is  principall}^  made  up,  are,  humanly  speaking,  very  hum- 
ble and  unpretending.  The  most  faithful  pastor  in  tlie 
world  was  never  able,  in  any  degree,  to  approach  the  Sa- 
viour, in  the  lowliness  of  his  manner  and  his  attention  to 
humble  things.  His  teachings  were  in  retired  places,  and 
his  illustrations  drawn  from  ordinary  affairs.  If  the  fingei 
of  faith  touclied  him  in  the  crowd,  he  knew  the  touch  and 
distinguished  also  the  faith.  He  reproved  the  ambitious 
housewifery  of  an  humble  woman.  After  he  had  healed 
a  poor  being,  blind  from  his  birth — a  work  transcending 
all  but  divine  power — he  returned  and  sought  him  out,  a5 
the  most  humble  Sabbath-school  teacher  might  have  done; 
and  V'hen  he  had  found  him,  cast  out  and  persecuted  by 
?nen,  he  taughi  him  privately  the  highest  secrets  of  hia 
Mesf^iahship.  When  the  world  around  hung  darkened  in 
sympathy  with  his  cross,  and  the  earth  ^^as  shaking  with 


288  LIVING    TO    GOD 

.nward  amazement,  he  himself  was  rememb'.^riiig  his 
mother,  and  discharging  the  filial  cares  of  a  good  son. 
And  when  he  burst  the  bars  of  death,  its  first  and  final 
conqueror,  he  folded  the  linen  clothes  and  the  napkin,  and 
laid  them  in  order  apart,  showing  that  in  the  greatest 
tilings,  he  had  a  set  purpose  also  concerning  the  smallest. 
And  thus,  when  perfectly  scanned,  the  work  of  Christ's 
redemption,  like  the  created  universe,  is  seen  to  be  a 
vast  orb  of  glory,  wrought  up  out  of  finished  particles. 
Now  a  life  of  great  and  prodigious  exploits  would  have 
been  comparatively  an  easy  thing  for  him,  but  to  cover 
himself  with  beauty  and  glory  in  small  things,  to  fill  and 
adorn  every  little  human  occasion,  so  as  to  make  it  divine, 
— this  was  a  work  of  skill,  which  no  mind  or  hand  wag 
equal  to,  but  that  which  shaped  the  atoms  of  the  world. 
Such  evci-ywhere  is  God,  He  nowhere  overlooks  or  de- 
spises small  things. 

4.  It  is  a  fact  of  history  and  of  observation,  that  all 
efficient  men,  while  they  have  been  men  of  comprehension, 
have  also  been  men  of  detail.  I  wish  it  vv-ere  possible  tc 
Droduce  as  high  an  example  of  this  two-fold  character 
among  the  servants  of  God  and  benevolence  in  these  times, 
as  we  have  in  that  fiery  prodigy  of  war  and  conquest,  who. 
m  the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  desolated  Europe, 
Napoleon  was  the  most  effective  man  in  modern  times—- 
sonie  will  say  of  all  times.  The  secret  of  his  character 
war,  that  while  his  plans  were  more  vast,  more  various, 
and,  of  course,  more  difl&cult  than  those  of  other  men,  he 
had  th'?  talent,  at  the  same  time,  to  fill  them  up  with  per- 
fe.it  promptness  and  precision,  in  every  particular  oJ"  ex- 
ccuticn.  His  va.st  and  daring  plans  would  have  been  vi* 
ionary  in  any  other  man;  but  with  him  ('V(-rv  vision  tlcNS 


IN    SMALL    THINGS.  289 

out  of  his  brain,  a  chariot  of  .ron;  because  it  was  filled 
up,  m  all  the  particulars  of  execution,  to  be  a  solid  anti 
compact  framework  in  every  part.  His  armies  were  to- 
gether only  one  great  engine  of  desolation,  of  which  he 
was  the  head  or  brain.  Numbci-s,  spaces,  times,  were  all 
distinct  in  his  eye.  The  wheeling  of  every  legion,  how- 
ever remote,  was  mentally  present  to  him.  The  tramp  of 
every  foot  sounded  in  his  ear.  The  numbers  were  always 
supplied,  the  spaces  passed  over,  tbe  limes  met,  and  so  the 
work  was  done.  Tbe  nearest  moral  approximation  I  think 
of,  was  Paul  the  apostle.  Paul  had  great  principles,  great 
plans,  and  a  great  enthusiasm.  lie  had  the  art,  at  the 
same  time,  to  bring  his  great  principles  into  a  powerful 
application  to  his  own  conduct,  and  to  all  the  common 
affairs  of  all  the  disciples  in  his  churches.  He  detected 
every  want,  understood  every  character;  set  his  guards 
Hgainst  those  whom  he  distrusted ;  kept  all  his  work  turn- 
ing in  a  motion  of  discipline;  prompted  to  every  duty, 
you  will  find  his  epistles  distinguished  by  great  princi- 
ples; and,  at  the  same  time,  by  a  various  and  circumstan- 
tial attention  to  all  the  common  affairs  of  life ;  and,  in 
that,  you  have  the  secret  of  his  efficiency.  There  must  be 
detail  in  every  great  work.  It  is  an  element  of  effective- 
ness, which  no  reach  of  plan,  no  enthusiasm  of  purpose, 
can  dispense  with.  Thus,  if  a  man  conceives  the  idea  of 
becoming  eminent  in  learning,  but  cannot  toil  through  the 
million  of  little  drudgeries  necessary  to  carry  him  on,  his 
leaining  will  be  soon  tol(\  Or,  if  a  man  undertakes  to  be- 
come rich,  but  despises  the  small  and  gradual  advances  by 
which  wealth  is  ordinarily  accumulated,  his  expectationa 
will,  of  course,  be  the  sum  of  his  ri(;hcs.  Accurate  and 
careful  detail,  the  minding  of  common  occasions  and  small 


290  LIVING    TO    GOD 

tilings,  combined  witli  general  scope  and  vigor,  is  the  so 
cret  of  all  the  cfiiciency  and  success  in  the  world.  God 
has  so  ordered  things,  that  great  and  sudden  leaps  are  sel 
dom  observable.  Every  advance  in  the  general  must  be 
made  bj  advances  in  particular.  The  trees  and  the  corn 
do  not  leap  out  suddenly  into  maturity,  but  they  clirnb 
upward,  by  little  and  little,  anvl  after  the  minutest  possible 
increment.  The  orbs  of  heaven,  too,  accomplish  their  cir- 
cles not  by  one  or  two  extraordinary  starts  or  springs,  but 
by  traveling  on  through  paces  and  roods  of  the  sky.  It 
is  thus,  and  only  thus,  that  any  disciple  will  become  effi- 
cient in  the  service  of  his  Master.  He  can  not  do  up  hia 
works  of  usefulness  by  the  prodigious  stir  and  commotion 
of  a  few  extraordinary  occasions.  Laying  down  great 
plans,  he  must  accomplish  them  by  great  industry,  by 
minute  attentions,  by  saving  small  advances,  by  working 
out  his  way  as  God  shall  assist  him. 

5.  It  is  to  be  observed,  that  there  is  more  of  real  piety 
in  adorning  one  small  than  one  great  occasion.  This  may 
seem  paradoxical,  but  what  I  intend  will  be  seen  by  one 
or  two  illustrations.  I  have  spoken  of  the  minuteness  of 
God's  works.  When  I  regard  the  eternal  God  as  engaged 
in  polishing  an  atom,  or  elaborating  the  functions  of  a 
mote  invisible  to  the  eye,  what  evidence  do  I  there  receive 
of  his  desire  to  perfect  his  works!  No  gross  and  mighty 
world,  however  plausibly  shaped,  would  yield  a  hundredth 
part  the  intensity  of  evidence.  An  illustration  from  hu- 
man things  will  present  a  closer  parallel.  It  is  perfectly 
well  understood,  or  if  not,  it  should  be,  that  almost  any 
husband  would  leap  into  the  sea,  or  rush  into  a  bui-ning 
edifice  to  rescue  a  perishing  wife.  But  to  anticipate  the 
oonvenieiice  or  happiness  of  a  wife  in  some  small  matter 


IN    SMALL    THINfia. 


29\ 


tbe  negloct  of  which  would  be  unol;servcd,  is  a  more  elo- 
quent proof  of  tenderness.     This  shows  a  mindful  fond 
ness,  which  wants  occasions  in  which  to  express   itaelf. 
And  the  smaller  the  occasion  seized  upon,  the  more  in- 
tensely affectionate  is  the  attention  paid.     Piety  to'^  ard 
God  may  be  well  tested  or  measured,  in  the  same  way 
Peter  found  no  difficulty  in  drawing  his  sword  and  fight- 
ing for  his  Master,  even  at  the  hazard  of  his  life,  thcmgh 
but  an  hour  or  less  afterward  he  forsook  him  and  denied 
him.     His  valor  on  that  great  and  exciting  occasion  was 
no  proof  of  his  piety.     But  when  the  gentle  Mary  came, 
with  her  box  of  ointment,  and  poured  it  on  the  Saviour's 
liead — an  act  which  satisfied  no  want,  met  no  exigenc)^, 
and  was  of  no  use,  excei)t  as  a  gratuitous  and  studied  proof 
of  her  attachment  to  Jesus,  he  marks  it  as  an  eminent  ex 
ample  of  piety;  saying— Verily  I  say  unto  you  where 
Boever  this  gospel  shall  be  preached  in  the  world,  there 
also  shall  this,  that  this  woman  hath  done,  be  told  for  a 
memorial  of  her. 

My  brethren,  this  piety  w^hich  is  faithful  in  that  which 
is  least,  is  really  a  more  difficult  piety  than  that  which 
triuniuhs  and  glares  on  high  occasions.  Our  judgments 
are  apt  to  be  dazzled  by  a  vain  admiration  of  the  more 
public  attempts  and  the  more  imposing  manifestations  of 
occasional  zeal.  It  requires  less  piety,  I  verily  believe,  to 
be  a  martyr  for  Christ,  than  it  does  to  love  a  powerless 
enemy ;  or  to  look  upon  the  success  of  a  rival  withom 
envy  ;  or  even  to  maintain  a  perfect  and  guileless  integrity 
in  the  common  transactions  of  life.  Precisely  this,  in  fact, 
is  the  lesson  which  history  teaches.  How  many^  alas !  oi 
ihose  who  have  died  in  the  manner  of  martyrdom,  mani- 
festly sought  that  distinction,  and  brought  it  on  themselves 


292  LIVING    TO    GOD 

by  instigation  of  a  mere  fanatical  ambition!  Sucb  facli 
Beera  designed  to  show  us  that  the  common  spheres  of  life 
and  business,  the  small  matters  of  the  street,  the  shop,  tb^, 
hearth,  and  the  table,  are  more  genial  to  true  piety,  than 
au}^  artificial  extraordinary  scenes  of  a  more  imposing  de- 
scription. Excitement,  ambition,  a  thousand  questionable 
causes,  may  elevate  us  occasionall}'  to  great  attempts ;  but 
they  will  never  lead  us  into  the  more  humble  duties  of 
constancy  and  godly  industry ;  or  teach  us  to  adorn  the 
unpretending  spheres  of  life  with  a  heavenly  spirit.  We 
love  to  do  great  things ;  our  natural  pride  would  be  greatly 
pleased,  if  God  had  made  the  jky  taller,  the  world  larger, 
and  given  us  a  more  royal  style  of  life  and  duty.  But  he 
understands  us  well.  His  purpose  is  to  heal  our  infirmity  ; 
and  with  this  very  intent,  I  am  persuaded,  he  has  ordained 
these  humble  spheres  of  action,  so  that  no  ostentation,  no 
great  and  striking  explosions  of  godliness  shall  tempt  our 
heart.  And  in  the  same  wa3^  his  word  declares,  that  be* 
Btowing  all  one's  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  or  giving  one's  body 
to  be  burned,  and,  of  consequence,  that  great  speeches  and 
donations,  that  a  mighty  zeal  for  reform,  that  a  prodigious 
jealousy  for  sound  doctrine,  without  something  better — ■ 
without  charity,  profiteth  nothing.  And  the  picture  of 
charity  is  humble  enough ; — It  suffereth  long  and  is  kind, 
envieth  not,  v^aunteth  not  itself;  is  not  puffed  up.  doth  not 
behave  itself  unseemly ;  seeketh  not  her  own,  is  not  easily 
provoked,  thinketh  no  evil,  beareth  all  things,  believetli 
all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things. 

6,  The  importance  of  living  to  God,  in  ordinary  and 
email  things,  is  seen,  in  the  fact  that  character,  which  is 
the  end  c>f  religion,  is  in  its  very  nature  a  growth.  Con- 
version is  a  great  cli?.nge    old  things  are  passed  away  ; 


IN    SMALL    THINGS.  293 

behold  all  tilings  are  become  new.  This  howe^'e^  is  the 
language  of  a  hope  or  confidence,  somewhat  prophetiC;  ex- 
ulting, at  the  beginning,  in  the  realization  3f  future  victory 
The  young  disciple,  certainly,  is  far  enough  from  a  con- 
sciousness of  complete  deliverance  from  sin.  In  that  re 
spect,  his  work  is  but  just  begun.  He  is  now  in  the  blade; 
we  shall  see  him  next  in  the  ear ;  and  after  that,  he  will 
ripen  to  the  full  corn  in  the  ear.  His  character,  as  a  man 
and  a  Christian,  is  to  accomplish  its  stature  by  growing. 
And  all  the  offices  of  life,  domestic,  social,  civil,  useful, 
are  contrived  of  God  to  be  the  soil,  as  Christ  is  the  sun, 
of  such  a  growth.  All  the  cares,  wants,  labors,  dangers, 
accidents,  intercourses  of  life,  ;trc  adjusted  for  the  very 
purpose  of  exercising  and  ripening  character.  They  are 
precisel}^  adapted  for  this  end,  by  God's  all-perfect  wisdom. 
This,  in  feet,  is  the  grand  philosophy  of  the  structure  of 
all  things.  And,  accordingly,  there  never  has  beeu  a 
great  and  beautiful  character,  which  has  not  become  so  by 
filling  well  the  ordinary  and  smaller  offices  appointed  of 
God. 

The  wonderful  fortunes  of  Joseph  seem,  at  first,  to  have 
fallen  suddenl}^  upon  him,  and  altogether  by  a  miracle. 
But  a  closer  attention  to  his  history  will  show  you  that  he 
rose  only  b}^a  gradual  progress,  and  by  the  natural  power 
of  his  virtues.  The  astonishing  art  he  had  of  winning  the 
(confidence  of  others  had,  after  all,  no  magic  in  it  save  the 
magic  of  goodness ;  and  God  assisted  him  only  as  he  as- 
sists other  good  men.  The  growth  of  his  fortunes  was 
the  shadow  only  of  his  growth  in  character.  By  his  assi- 
duity, he  made  every  thing  prosper ;  and  by  his  good  faith, 
he  won  the  confidence,  first  of  Potiphar,  then  of  the  keeper 
of  the  prison,  then  of  Pharaoh  himself.     And  so  he  grew 

25* 


294  LIVING    TO    GOD 

up  gently  and  silently  till  the  helm  ot'  the  Egyptian  King 
doin  was  found  in  his  hand. 

Peter,  too,  after  he  had  flourished  so  vauntingly  w:tl: 
his  sword,  entered  on  a  growing  and  faithful  life.  Frcn; 
an  ignorant  fisherman,  he  became  a  skillful  writer,  a  fi'i- 
hhod  Christian,  and  a  teacher  of  faithful  livmg,  in  the 
common  offices  of  life.  He  occupied  his  great  apostleship 
in  exhorting  subjects  to  obey  the  ordinances  of  governors 
for  the  Lord's  sake;  servants  to  be  subject  to  their  mas- 
ters; wives  to  study  such  a  carriage  as  would  win  theii 
unbelieving  husbands;  and  husbands  to  give  honor  to  tho, 
wife,  as  being  heirs  together  of  the  grace  of  life.  But  in  a 
manner  to  comprehend  every  thing  good,  he  said  : — Giving 
dU  diligence  (this  is  the  true  notion  of  Christian  excel- 
lence)— giving  all  diligence,  add  to  your  faith  virtue,  to  vir- 
tue knowledge,  to  knowledge  temperance,  to  temperance 
putieuce,  to  patience  godliness,  to  godliness  brotherly  kind' 
aess,  and  to  brotherly  kindness  charity.  The  impression 
.3  unavoidable,  that  he  now  regarded  religion,  not  as  a 
sword  fight,  but  as  a  growth  of  holy  character,  kept  up 
by  all  diligence  in  the  walks  of  life. 

Everv  good  example  in  the  word  of  God,  is  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  same  truth.  To  finish  a  character  on  a  sudden, 
or  by  any  but  ordinary  duties,  carefully  and  piously  done, 
by  a  mere  religion  of  Sundays  and  birth-days,  and  revi- 
vals and  contributions,  and  orthodoxies,  and  public  re- 
forms, is  nowhere  undertaken.  They  watered  the  plant 
in  secret,  trained  it  up  at  family  altars,  strengthened  it  in 
the  exposures  of  business,  till  it  became  a  beautiful  and 
heavenly  growth,  and  ready,  with  all  its  blooming  fruit, 
to  adorn  the  paradise  of  God. 

It  ought  also  to  be  noti(  ed,  under  this  heal,  that  all  th( 


IN    SMALL    THINGS.  295 

miscliicfs  wbicli  befall  Christian  character  and  destroy  its 
growth,  are  such  as  lie  in  the  ordinary  humble  duties  of 
life.  Christians  do  not  fall  back  into  declension  or  dis- 
graceful apostacy  on  u  sudden,  or  by  the  overcoming  pow- 
er of  great  and  strange  temptations.  They  are  stolen  away 
:alh»!r  by  little  and  little,  and  almost  insensibly  to  them- 
selves, They  commonly  fall  into  some  lightness  of  car 
riage ;  some  irritation  of  temper  in  their  family  or  business, 
some  neglect  of  duty  to  children,  apprentices,  or  friends, 
some  artfulness;  some  fault  of  integrity  in  business. 
These  are  the  beginnings  of  evil.  At  length  they  grow  a 
little  more  remiss.  They  begin  to  slight  their  secret  duties. 
The  world  and  its  fashions  become  more  powerful,  and 
they  yield  a  little  farther ;  till  at  length  they  are  utterly 
fallen  from  the  spirit  and  standing  of  Christians.  And 
thus,  you  perceive  that  all  the  dangers  which  beset  our 
piety,  lie  in  the  humble  and  ordinary  matters  of  life. 
Here  then  is  the  place  where  religion  must  make  her  con- 
quests. Here  she  must  build  her  baiTiers  and  take  her 
stand.  And  if  it  be  a  matter  of  consequence  that  the  peo- 
ple of  God  should  live  constant  and  godly  lives ;  that  they 
should  grow  in  the  strength  of  their  principles,  and  the 
beauty  of  their  example ;  that  the  church  should  clear 
herself  of  all  reproach,  and  stand  invested  with  honor  in 
the  sight  of  all  mankind, — if  this  be  important,  so  im- 
portant is  it  that  we  live  well  in  small  things,  and  adon: 
the  conmron  incidents  of  life  with  a  heavenly  temper  and 
practice.  Eeligion  must  forever  be  unstable,  the  peo- 
ple of  Christ  must  fall  into  declension  and  disgrace,  if  it 
!:)e  not  understood  that  here  is  the  true  field  of  the  Chris- 
tian life. 

These  illustratii>ns  of  the  importance  of  living  to  Q(vJ 


if  98  LIVING    TO    GOD 

In  ordinary  and  common  things  might  be  carried  to  alnio^. 
any  extent;  but  I  will  arrest  the  subject  here,  and  pr'^ 
ceed  to  suggest  some  applications  v/hich  may  be  useful. 

1.  Private  Christians  are  here  instructed  in  the  true 
method  of  Christian  progress  and  usefulness.  It  is  a  J&ral 
truth  with  you  all,  I  doubt  not,  Irethren,  that  divine  aid 
and  intercourse  are  your  only  strength  and  reliance.  You 
know,  too  well,  the  infirmity  of  your  best  purposes  and 
endeavors,  to  hope  for  any  thing  but  defeat,  Vv'ithout  the 
Spirit  of  God  dwelling  in  you  and  superintending  youi 
warfare.  In  what  manner  you  may  secure  this  divine  in- 
dwelling permanently  is  here  made  plain.  It  is  not  by 
attempts  above  your  capacity,  or  by  the  invention  of  great 
and  extraordinary  occasions;  but  it  is  by  living  unto  God 
daily.  If  you  feel  the  necessity  of  making  spiritual  at 
tainments,  or  growing  in  holiness ;  if  you  think  as  little 
of  mere  starts  and  explosions  in  religious  zeal  as  they  de- 
serve, and  as  much  of  growths,  habits,  and  purified  affec- 
tions as  God  does,  you  will  have  a  delightful  work  to 
prosecute  in  the  midst  of  all  your  ordinary  cares  and  em- 
ployments, and  3"ou  will  have  the  inward  witness  of  divine 
communion  ever  vouchsafed  you.  The  sins,  by  which 
God's  Spirit  is  ordinaril}'-  grieved,  are  the  sins  of  smal] 
things — laxities  in  keeping  the  temper,  slight  neglects  of 
duty,  lightness,  sharpness  of  dealing.  If  it  is  your  habit 
to  walk  with  God  in  the  humblest  occupations  of  3''0ur 
days,  it  is  very  nearlj-  certain  that  you  will  be  filled  with 
the  Spirit  always. 

If  it  be  a  question  with  you,  how  to  overcome  bad  and 
pernicious  habits,  the  mode  is  here  before  you.  The  rea- 
son why  those  who  are  converted  to  Christ,  often  make  sc 


IN   SMALL  things;  297 

poor  a  work  of  rectifying  their  old  habits,  is  that  they  lay 
down  their  work  in  the  very  places  where  it  needs  to  be 
prosecuted  most  carefully,  that  is,  in  their  common  em- 
ployments. The}^  do  not  live  to  God  in  that  which  is 
least.  They  reserve  their  piety  for  those  exercises,  public 
and  private,  which  are  immediately  religious,  and  so  a 
wide  door  is  left  open  in  all  the  common  duties  of  life  for 
their  old  habits  to  break  in  and  take  them  captive.  As  if 
it  were  enough,  in  shutting  out  a  flood,  to  dike  the  higher 
points  of  the  ground  and  leave  the  lower ! 

If  the  question  be,  in  what  manner  you  may  grow  in 
knowledge  and  intellectual  strength,  the  answer  is  readily 
given.  You  can  do  it  by  no  means  save  that  of  pertina- 
cious, untiring  application.  No  one  becomes  a  Christian 
who  can  not  by  the  cultivation  of  thought,  and  by  acquir- 
ing a  well-discriminated  knowledge  of  the  scriptures,  make 
himself  a  gift  of  four  fold,  and  perhaps  even  an  hundred 
fold  value  to  the  church.  This  he  can  do  by  industry,  by 
improving  small  opportunities,  and,  not  least,  b}^  endeav- 
oring to  realize  the  principles  and  the  beauty  of  Christ  in 
all  his  daily  conduct.  In  this  point  of  view,  religion  is 
cultivation  itself,  and  that  of  the  noblest  kind.  And 
never  does  it  truly  justify  its  nature,  except  when  it  is 
seen  elevating  the  mind,  the  manners,  the  whole  moral 
dignity  of  the  subject. 

Why  is  it  that  a  certain  class  of  men,  who  never  thrust 
themselves  on  public  observation,  by  any  very  signal  acts, 
do  yet  attain  to  a  very  commanding  influence,  and  leave  a 
deep  and  lasting  impression  on  the  world  ?  They  are  the 
men  who  thrive  by  constancy  and  by  means  of  small  ad 
vances,  just  as  others  do  who  thrive  in  wealth.  Thej  live 
to  God  in  the  common  doings  of  their  daily  V-^e,  as  weP 


298  LIVING    TO    GOD 

as  111  tlie  more  extraordinary  transactions,  in  which  the; 
mingle.  In  thia  way,  they  show^  themselves  to  be  act«a 
tod  by  good  principle,  not  from  respect  to  the  occasions 
whore  it  may  be  manifested,  but  from  respect  to  principle 
itoeJf.  And  their  carefulness  to  honor  God  in  humble 
tilings,  is  stronger  proof  to  men  of  their  uprightness,  than 
the  most  distinguished  acts  or  sacrifices.  Such  persons 
operate  principally  by  the  weight  of  confidence  and  moral 
respect  they  acquire,  wliich  is  the  most  legitimate  and 
powerful  action  in  the  world.  At  first,  it  is  not  felt,  be- 
;'-ause  it  is  noiseless,  and  is  not  thoroughly  appreciated. 
It  is  action  without  pretense,  without  attack,  and  therefore, 
perhaps,  without  notice  for  a  time.  But  by  degrees  the 
personal  motives  begin  to  be  understood,  and  the  beauty 
and  moral  dignity  of  the  life  are  felt.  No  proclamation 
of  au  aim  or  purpose  has,  in  the  mean  time,  gone  before 
the  disciple  to  awaken  suspicion  or  siarx  opposition.  The 
simple  power  of  his  goodness  and  uprightness  flows  out 
as  an  emanation  on  all  around  him.  He  shines  like  the 
sun,  not  because  he  purposes  to  shine,  but  because  he  is 
full  of  light.  The  bad  man  is  rebuked,  the  good  man 
strengthened  by  his  example ;  every  thing  evil  and  un- 
graceful is  ashamed  before  him,  every  thing  right  and 
lovely  is  m.iie  stronger  and  lovelier.  And  now,  if  he  has 
the  talent  to  undertake  some  great  enterprise  of  reform  or 
of  benevolence,  in  the  name  of  his  Master,  he  has  some- 
thing already  prepared  in  the  good  opinions  of  mankind, 
io  soften  or  neutralize  the  pretense  of  such  attempts,  and 
give  him  favor  in  them.  Or,  if  a  Christian  of  this  stamp 
has  not  the  talents  oi  standing  necessary  to  lead  in  the 
more  active  forms  of  enterprise,  he  will  yet  ac3om- 
phsh  a  high  and  noble  purpose  in  his  life.     The  silent 


IN    SMA^L    THINGS.  299 

savor  of  his  name  may,  perliaps,  tlo  more  good  after  he 
is  laid  in  his  grave,  than  abler  men  do  by  the  most  acti\'e 
efforts. 

I  often  hear  mentioned,  by  the  Christijins  of  our  city, 
the  name  of  a  certain  godly  man,  who  has  been  dead 
many  years ;  and  he  is  alwa}' s  spoken  of  with  so  much 
resj)pctfulnes,s  and  affection,  that  I,  a  stranger  of  another 
generation,  feel  his  power,  and  the  sound  of  his  name  re- 
freshes nT?.  That  man  was  one  who  lived  to  God  in  small 
things.  I  know  this,  not  by  any  description  which  has 
thus  set  forth  his  character,  but  from  the  very  respect  and 
homage  with  which  he  is  named.  Virtually,  he  still  lives 
among  us,  and  the  face  of  his  goodness  shines  upon  all  our 
Christian  labors.  And  is  it  not  a  delightful  aspect  of  the 
Christian  faith,  that  it  opens  so  sure  a  prospect  of  doing 
o-ood,  on  all  who  are  in  humble  condition,  or  whose  talents 
are  too  feeble  to  act  in  the  more  public  spheres  of  enter- 
prise and  duty?  Such  are  called  to  act  by  their  simple 
o^oodness  more  than  others  are ;  and  who  has  not  felt  the 
possibility  that  such,  when  faithful,  do  actually  discharge 
a  calling,  the  more  exalted,  because  of  its  unmixed  nature? 
If  there  were  none  of  these  unpretending  but  beautiful 
examples,  blooming  in  depression,  sweetening  affliction  by 
their  Christian  patience,  adorning  poverty  by  their  high 
integrity,  and  dying  in  the  Christian  heroism  of  faith, — if, 
I  say,  there  were  no  such  examples  making  their  latent 
impressions  in  the  public  mind,  of  the  dignit}^  and  truth 
of  the  gosj^el,  who  shall  prove  that  our  great  men,  who 
are  supj-iosed  to  accomplish  so  much  by  their  eloquence, 
iheir  notable  sacrifices  and.  fir-reaching  plans,  would  not 
utterly  fail  in  them  ?  nowever  this  may  be,  we  have  rea- 
son enough,  all  of  us,  for  living  to  God  in  every  sphere  of 


800  LIVING    TO    GOD 

life.     Blessed  are  they  tliat  keep  judgment,  and  be  that 
doeth  righteousness  at  all  tirres. 

2.  Our  subject  enablec  us  to  offer  some  useful  sugges- 
tions, concerning  the  mannei  in  which  churches  maj  be 
made  to  prosper. 

Kirst  of  all,  brethren,  you  will  have  a  care  to  maintain 
your  puritj  and  your  honor,  by  the  exercise  of  a  sound 
discipline.  And  here  you  will  be  faithful  in  that  which  is 
least.  You  will  not  wait  until  a  crisis  comes,  or  a  flagrant 
case  arises,  where  the  hand  of  extermination  is  needed. 
That  is  often  a  very  cruel  discipline,  rather  than  one  of 
brotherly  love.  Nothing,  of  course,  should  be  done  in  a 
meddlesome  spirit;  for  this  would  be  more  mischievous 
than  neglect.  But  small  things  will  3^et  be  watched,  the 
first  gentle  declinings  noted  and  faithfully  but  kindly  re- 
proved. Your  church  should  be  like  a  family,  not  waiting 
till  the  ruin  of  a  member  is  complete  and  irremediable, 
but  acting  preventively.  This  M'ould  be  a  healthy  disci- 
pline, and  it  is  the  only  sort,  I  am  persuaded,  on  which 
God  will  ever  smile. 

The  same  spirit  of  watchfulness  and  attention  is  neces- 
ary  to  all  the  solid  interests  of  your  church.  It  is  not 
enough  that  you  attempt  to  bless  it  occasionally  by  some 
act  of  generosity  or  some  fit  of  exertion.  Your  brethren, 
suffering  from  injustice  or  evi.  report,  must  have  your 
faithful  sympathy ;  such  as  are  struggling  with  adversity 
must  have  your  aid ;  when  it  is  possible,  the  more  humble 
and  private  exercises  of  your  church  must  be  attended. 

The  impression  can  not  be  too  deeply  fixed,  that  a 
ch  -irch  must  grow  chiefly  by  its  industry  and  the  personal 
growth  of  ts  members.     Some  churches  seem  to  feel  tli-'il 


IN    SMALL    THINGS.  801 

if  any  tiling  is  to  be  done,  some  great  operation  must  be 
started.  They  can  not  even  repent  without  concert  and  a 
general  ado.  Have  you  not  the  preaching  of  Grod's  word 
fifty-two  sabbaths  in  the  year?  Have  you  not  also 
i'an lilies,  friendships,  interchanges  of  business,  meetingti 
for  prayer,  brotherly  vows,  opportunities  of  private  and 
public  charity?  Do  not  despise  these  common  occa- 
sions— God  has  not  planned  the  world  badly;  Christ  dm 
not  want  higher  occasions  than  the  Father  gave  him.  The 
grand  maxim  of  his  mission  was,  that  the  humblest  sphere? 
give  the  greatest  weight  and  dignity  to  principles — -He  was 
the  good  carpenter,  saving  the  world !  Eightly  viewed, 
my  brethren,  there  are  no  small  occasions  in  tliis  world^ 
as  in  our  haste  we  too  often  think.  Great  principles,  prin- 
ciples sacred  e\'en  to  God,  are  at  stake  in  every  niomeni 
of  life.  What  we  want,  therefore,  is  not  invention,  but 
industry ;  not  the  advantages  of  new  and  extraordinary 
times,  but  the  realizing  of  our  principles  by  adorning 
the  doctrine  of  God  our  Saviour  in  all  times. 

One  of  the  best  securities  for  the  growth  and  prosperity 
of  a  church,  is  to  be  sought  in  a  faithful  exhibition  of  re- 
ligion in  families.  Here  is  a  law  of  increase,  which  God 
has  incorporated  in  his  church,  and  by  which  he  designs 
to  give  it  strength  and  encouragement.  But  why  is  it — I 
ask  the  question  with  grief  and  pain — why  is  it  that  so 
many  children,  so  mauy  apprentices  and  servants  are  seeu 
lo  grow  up,  or  to  live  many  years  in  Christian  familks, 
without  any  regard,  or  even  respect  for  religion  ?  It  i? 
because  their  parents,  guardians,  or  masters  have  that  son 
of  piety  which  can  flourish  only  like  Peter's  sword,  on 
great  occasions.  Then,  perhaps,  they  are  exceedinglj  ful! 
of  piety,  and  put  forth  many  awkward  efforts  to  do  good 

28 


.502  LIVING    TO    GOD 

in  their  families;  enough,  it  may  be,  to  give  th(;in  a  pel 
rnanent  disgust  for  religious  things.  But  when  the  great 
occasion  m  past,  their  work  is  done  up.  A  spirit  of  world- 
liuess  now  rolls  in  again,  a  want  of  conscience  begins  to 
appear,  a  light  and  carnal  conversation  to  show  itself 
The  preaching  of  the  gospel  is  very  critically,  and  some- 
wliat  wittily  canvassed  on  the  Sabbath.  The  day  itself, 
[u  the  mean  time,  fares  scarcely  better  than  the  preacher. 
It  is  shortened  by  degrees  at  both  ends,  and  again  by  a 
newspaper  or  some  trifling  conversation,  in  the  middle. 
There  is  no  instructive  remark  at  the  family  praj^ers,  and 
perhaps  no  family  instruction  anywhere.  There  is  no 
iffort  to  point  the  rising  family  toward  a  better  world,  and 
apparently  no  living  for  such  a  world.  Bad  tempers  are 
manifested  in  government  and  in  business.  Arts  are  prac- 
ticed below  dignity  and  wide  of  integrity.  How  is  it 
possible  that  the  children  and  youth  of  a  fiimily  should 
not  learn  to  despise  such  a  religion?  How  different  would 
be  the  result,  if  there  were  a  simple  unostentatious  piety 
kept  up  with  constancy,  and  the  fear  of  God  were  seen  to 
be  a  controlling  principle,  in  all  the  daily  conduct  and 
plans  of  life !  I  have  heard  of  many  striking  cases  of 
v-ionvei^ion,  which  were  produced,  under  God,  by  simply 
seeing  the  godly  life  of  a  Christian  in  his  family  without 
a  word  of  direct  address,  and  in  a  time  of  general  inatten- 
Uou  tc  religious  things.  In  such  a  family  every  child  and 
minate  wi-1  certainly  respect  religion.  And  the  church,  in 
tact,  may  oount  on  receiving  a  constant  and  certain  flow 
>i'  increase  from  the  bosom  of  such  families. 

I  will  not,  pursue  this  head  farther.  But  feel  assured  of 
'.his.  brethren,  that  an  every-da}'  religion  •  one  that  loves 
me  duties  of  our  common  walk  ;  one  that  makes  an  hon 


IN    SMALL    THINGS.  308 

est  man  ;  one  that  accomplishes  an  intcllectunl  and  nionil 
^owth  m  the  subject;  one  tliat  works  in  all  weather,  and 
improves  all  opportunities,  will  best,  and  most  healthily; 
Drciiiote  the  growth  of  a  church,  and  the  power  of  the 
gospel,  God  prescribes  our  diUy;  and  it  were  wrong  not 
to  believe  that  if  v-^e  undertake  God's  real  work,  he  wiD 
furnish  us  to  it,  and  give  us  pleasure  in  it.  He  will  trans- 
fuse into  us  some  portion  of  his  own  versatility ;  he  will 
attract  us  into  a  nicer  observation  of  his  wisdom  in  our 
humble  duties  and  concerns.  We  shall  more  admire  the 
healthiness  of  that  which  grows  up  in  God's  natural  spring- 
times, and  ripens  in  the  air  of  his  common  days.  The 
.jrdinaiy  will  thus  grow  dignified  and  sacred  in  our  sight; 
And  without  discarding  all  invention  in  res})ect  to  means 
•md  opportunities,  we  shall  yet  especially  love  the  daily 
bread  of  a  common  grace,  in  our  common  works  and  cares. 
A.nd  all  the  more  that  it  was  the  taste  of  our  blessed  Mas- 
ter, to  make  the  ordinary  glow  with  mercy  and  goodness. 
Him  we  are  to  follow.  We  are  to  work  after  no  set  fashior, 
of  high  endeavor,  but  to  walk  with  h"m,  performing  as  it 
were,  a  ministry  on  foot,  that  we  may  stop  ;it  the  hamblcst 
tnattoi'S  and  prove  our  fidelity  tbei^e. 


XVI. 

THE   rOWER   OF   AN    ENDLESS    LIFE. 

HlB.  vii.  16. —  Who  is  made,  n  t  after  the  laio  of  a  carnal 
Qomiiiandinenti  hut  after  thefower  of  an  endless  life. 

This  word  after  is  a  word  of  correspondence,  and  im- 
plies two  subjects  brought  in  comparison.  That  Christ 
has  the  power  of  an  endless  life  in  his  own  person  is  cer- 
tainly true;  but  to  say  that  he  is  made  a  priest  after  this 
power  subjective  in  himself,  is  awkward  even  to  a  degree 
that  violates  the  natural  grammar  of  speech.  The  sugges- 
tion is  different ;  viz.,  that  the  priesthood  of  Christ  is  grad- 
uated by  the  wants  and  measures  of  the  human  soul  as 
the  priesthood  of  the  law  was  not ;  that  the  endless  life  in 
which  he  comes,  matches  and  measures  the  endless  life  in 
mankind  whose  fall  he  is  to  restore;  providing  a  salvation 
as  strong  as  their  sin,  and  as  long  or  lasting  as  the  run  of 
their  immortality.  He  is  able  thus  to  save  unto  the  utter- 
most Powers  of  endless  life  though  we  be,  falling  p:"iii- 
ciipalities,  wandering  stars  shooting  downward  in  the  pre- 
cipitation of  evil,  he  is  able  to  bring  us  ofi",  re-establish  oui 
dismantled  eternities,  and  set  us  in  the  peace  and  confidence 
of  an  eternal  righteousness. 

'I  propose  to  exhibit  the  work  of  Christ  in  this  high 
relation,  which  will  lead  me  to  consider — 

I.  The  power  of  an  endless  life  in  man,  what  it  is,  and,  oi 
being  under  sin,  requires. 

II.  What  Christ,  in  his  eternal  imesHtood,  does  to  resto->'e  it 


THE    POWER    OF    A^■     ENDLESS    LIFE.        SO.'' 

I.  Tlie  power  of  an  endless  life,  what  it  is  and  requires. 

The  greatness  of  our  immortality,  as  commonly  handled 
is  one  of  the  dullest  subjects,  partly  because  it  finds  appro 
hension  asleep  in  us,  and  partly  because  the  strained  com- 
p'ltptions  entered  into,  and  the  words  piled  up  as  magni- 
Qers,  in  a  way  of  impressing  the  sense  of  its  eternal  dura- 
tion, carry  no  impression,  start  no  sense  of  magnitude  in 
us.  Even  if  we  raise  no  doubt  or  objection,  they  do  little 
more  than  dram  us  to  sleep  in  our  own  nothingness.  We 
exist  here  only  in  the  germ,  and  it  is  much  as  if  the  life 
power  in  some  seed,  that,  for  example,  of  the  great  cedars 
of  the  west,  were  to  begin  a  magnifying  of  its  own  import- 
ance to  itself  in  the  fact  that  it  has  so  long  a  time  to  live ; 
and  finally,  because  of  the  tiny  figure  it  makes,  and  be- 
cause the  forces  it  contains  are  as  yet  unrealized,  to  settle 
inertly  down  upon  the  feeling  that,  after  all,  it  is  only  a 
seed,  a  dull,  insignificant  speck  of  matter,  wanting  to  be  a 
little  greater  than  it  can.  Instead,  then,  of  attempting  to 
magnify  the  soul  by  any  formal  computation  on  the  score 
of  time  or  duration,  let  us  simply  take  up  and  follow  the 
hint  that  is  given  us  in  this  brief  expression,  the  powei 
of  an  endless  life. 

It  is  a  power,  a  power  of  life,  a  power  of  endless  life. 

The  word  translated  power  in  the  text,  is  the  original  oi 
€ur  wojd  dynamic^  denoting  a  certain  impetus,  momentum, 
or  causat-ve  force,  which  is  cumulative,  growing  stronger 
and  more  impelling  as  it  goes.  And  this  is  the  nature  of 
life  oi  vital  force  universally, — it  is  a  force  cun.ulative  as 
long  as  it  continues.  It  enters  into  matter  as  a  building, 
organizing,  lifting  pow^er,  and  knows  not  how  to  stop  till 
dealh  stops  it.  We  use  the  word  grow  to  describe  its 
action,  and  it  does  not  even  know  how  to  subsist  wituout 

26* 


306        THE    POWER    CF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE. 

growth.  In  wliich  growth  it  lays  hold  continually  of  new 
material,  expands  in  volume,  and  fills  a  larger  sphere  of 
body  v/ith  its  power. 

Now  these  innumerable  lives,  animal  and  regetable,  a1 
work  upon  the  world,  creating  and  new-creating,  and  pro- 
d (icing  their  immense  transformations  of  matter,  are  all 
immaterial  forces  or  powers;  related,  in  that  manner,  to 
soulg,  'vhich  are  only  a  highest  class  of  powers.  The 
human  soul  can  not  be  more  efficiently  described  than  by 
calling  it  the  power  of  an  endless  life ;  and  to  it  all  these 
lower  immaterialities,  at  work  in  matter,  look  up  as  mute 
prophets,  testifying,  by  the  magical  sovereignty  they  wield 
in  the  processes  and  material  ti'ansformations  of  growth, . 
to  the  possible  forces  embodied  in  that  highest,  noblest 
form  of  life.  And  sometimes,  since  our  spiritual  nature, 
taken  as  a  power  of  life,  organizes  nothing  material  and 
external  by  which  its  action  is  made  visible,  God  allows 
the  inferior  lives  in  given  examples,  especially  of  the  tree 
species,  to  have  a  small  eternity  of  growth,  and  lift  their 
giant  forms  to  the  clouds,  that  we  may  stand  lost  in  amaze- 
ment before  the  majesty  of  that  silent  power  that  works 
in  life,  when  many  centuries  only  are  given  to  be  the  lease 
of  its  activity.  The  work  is  slow,  the  cumulative  process 
silent, — viewed  externally,  nothing  appears  that  we 
name  force,  and  yet  this  living  creature  called  a  tree, 
throbs  internally  in  fullness  of  life,  circulates  its  juices, 
swells  in  volume,  towers  in  majesty;  till  finally  it  gi>-es 
to  the  very  word  life  a  historic  presence  and  sublimity. 
[t  begins  with  a  mere  seed  or  germ,  a  tiny  speck  so  inei1 
and  frail  that  we  might  even  laugh  at  the  bare  suggestion 
of  power  in  such  a  look  of  nothingness ;  just  as  at  our  pres- 
ent point  of  dullness  and  weakness,  we  can  give  no  sound  of 


THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    l.IFE.         '601 

meaning  to  any  thing  said  of  our  own  spiritual  greatness 
and  yet  tLat  seed,  long  centuries  ago,  when  the  treiacr.dous 
babyhood  of  Mahomet  was  nursing  at  his  mother's  breast, 
sprouted  apace,  gathered  to  itself  new  circles  of  matter, 
year  by  year  and  age  after  age,  kept  its  pumps  in  play, 
sent  up  new  supplies  of  food,  piling  length  on  length  iu 
the  sky,  conserving  still  and  vitalizing  all;  and  now  it 
stands  entire  in  pillared  majesty,  mounting  upward  still,  and 
tossing  back  the  storms  that  break  on  its  green  pinnacles, 
a  bulk  immense,  such  as  being  felled  and  hollowed  would 
even  make  a  modern  ship  of  war. 

And  yet  these  cumulative  powers  of  vegetable  life  are 
only  feeble  types  of  that  higher,  fearfull}^  vaster  power, 
that  pertains  to  the  endless  life  of  a  soul — that  power  that 
known  or  unknown  dwells  in  you  and  in  me.  What  Abel 
now  is,  or  Enoch,  as  an  angel  of  God,  in  the  volume  of 
his  endless  life  and  the  vast  energies  unfolded  in  his  growth 
by  the  river  of  God,  they  may  set  you  tr3dng  to  guess, 
but  can  by  no  means  help  you  adequately  to  conceive. 
The  possible  majest}^  to  which  any  free  intelligence  of  God 
may  grow,  in  the  endless  increment  of  ages,  is  after  all 
rather  hinted  than  imaged  in  their  merely  vegetable 
grandeur. 

Quickened  by  these  analogies,  let  us  pass  directly  to  tho 
B<,)ul  or  spiritual  nature  itself,  as  a  power  of  endless  growth 
or  increment;  for  it  is  only  in  this  way  that  we  Degin  to 
sonceive  the  real  magnitude  and  majesty  of  the  soul,  and 
not  by  any  mere  computations  based  on  its  eternity  dt 
immortality. 

What  it  means,  in  this  higher  and  nobler  sense,  to  be  a 
power  of  life,  we  are  very  commonly  restrained  from  ob- 
serving by  two  or  three  considerations  tha":  require  to  be 


308        THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE. 

ruiiPxed.  First,  ^yhen  looking  after  the  measures  of  th< 
soul,  we  very  naturally  lay  hold  of  what  lirst  occurs  tc 
us,  and  begin  to  busy  ourselves  in  the  contemplation  of 
its  eternal  duration.  Whereas  the  eternal  duration  of  the 
eoul,  at  any  given  measure,  if  we  look  no  farther,  is  noth- 
ing but  the  eternal  continuance  of  its  mediocrity  or  com- 
[larative  littleness.  Its  eternal  growth  in  volume  and 
power  is  in  that  manner  quite  lost  sight  of,  and  the  com- 
putation misses  every  thing  most  impressive,  in  its  future 
significance  and  histor}^  Secondly,  the  growth  of  tho 
soul  is  a  merely  spiritual  growth,  indicated  by  no  visible 
and  material  form  that  is  expanded  by  it  and  with  it  as  in 
the  growth  of  a  tree,  and  therefore  passes  comparatively 
unnoticed  by  many,  just  because  they  can  not  see  it  with 
their  eyes.  And  then  again,  thirdly,  as  the  human  body 
attains  to  its  maturity,  and,  finally,  in  the  decays  of  age,  be- 
comes an  apparent  limit  to  the  spiritual  powers  and  fticul- 
ties,  we  drop  into  the  impression  that  these  have  now 
passed  their  climacteric,  and  that  we  have  actually  seen 
the  utmost  volume  it  is  in  their  na^.ure  ever  to  att-iin 
We  do  not  catch  the  significance  of  the  fact  that  tlie  sou] 
outgrows  the  growth  and  outlives  the  vigor  of  the  body, 
which  is  not  true  in  trees;  revealing  its  majestic  propertie-'^ 
as  a  force  independent  and  qualifiedly  sovereign.  Ob- 
serving how  long  the  soul-force  goes  on  to  expand  after 
the  body-force  has  reached  its  maximum,  and  when  dis- 
ease and  age  have  begun  to  shatter  the  frail  house  ii 
inhabits,  how  long  it  braves  these  bodily  decrepitudes, 
driving  on,  still  on,  like  a  strong  engine  in  a  poorly  tim- 
bered  vessel,  through  seas  not  too  heavy  for  it,  but  onlj 
for  the  crazy  hulk  it  impels, — observing  this,  and  making 
dno  account  of  it,  we  should  only  be  the  more  impresscJ 


THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE.        309 

with  a  sense  of  some  inherent  everlasting  power  of  gr<  »wth 
and  ])rogress  in  its  endless  life. 

Stripping  aside  now  all  uliese  impe.iiments,  let  ns  pasa 
directly  into  the  soul's  history,  and  catch  from  what  trans- 
pires in  its  first  indications  the  sign  or  promise  of  what  it 
is  to  become.     In  its  beginning  it  is  a  mere  seed  of  possi- 
bility.    All  the  infant  faculties  are  folded  up,  at  first,  and 
Ecarcel}  a  sign  of  power  is  visible  in  it.     But  a  doom  of 
growth  is  in  it,  and  the  hidden  momentum  of  an  endless 
power  is  driving  it  on.     And  a  falling  body  will  not  gather 
momentum  in  its  fall  more  naturally  and  certainly,  than  it 
will  gather  force,  in  the  necessary  struggle  of  its  endless 
life  now  begun.     We  may  think  little  of  the  increase;  it 
is  a  matter  of  course,  and  why  should  we  take  note  of  it? 
But  if  no  increase  or  development  appears,  if  the  faculties 
all  sleep  as  at  the  first,  we  take  sad  note  of  that,  and  draw 
how  reluctantly,  the  conclusion  that  our  child  is  an  idiot 
and  not  a  proper  man !     And  what  a  chasm  is  there  be 
tween  the  idiot  and  the  man  ;  one  a  being  unprogressive 
a  being  who  is  not  a  power ;  the  other  a  careering  force 
started  on  its  way  to  eternity,  a  principle  of  might  and 
majesty  begun  to  be  unfolded,  and  to  be  progressively 
unfolded   forever.      Intelligence,   reason,   conscience,   ob- 
servation, choice,  memory,  enthusiasm,  all  the  fires  of  his 
inborn  eternity  are  kindling  to  a  glow,  and,  looking  on 
tiim   as  a  force  immortal,  just  beginning  to  reveal  the 
symptoms  of  what  he  shall  be,  we  call  him  man.     Only  a 
few  years  ago  he  la}'  in  his  cradle,  a  barely  breathing  prin- 
ciple of  life,  but  in  that  life  were  gathered  up,  as  in  a  germ 
or  seed,  all  these  godlike  powers  that  are  now  so  conspic- 
uous in  the  volume  of  his  personal  growth      Ir   a  sense. 
all  that  is  in  him  now  was  in  him  then,  as  the  power  of  ar 


810         THE    POWER    OF    AT^     ENDLESS    LIFE. 

cndlf^ss  life,  and  still  the  sublime  progression  of  Lis  powei 
is  only  begun.  He  conquers  now  the  sea  and  its  storms 
He  climbs  the  heavens,  and  searches  out  the  mysteries  ol 
the  stars.  He  harnesses  the  lightning.  He  bids  the  rocks 
dissolve,  and  summons  the  secret  atoms  to  give  up  theii 
names  and  laws.  He  subdues  the  feco  or  the  world,  an(3 
compels  the  forces  of  the  waters  and  the  lires  to  be  hia 
rervants.  He  makes  laws,  hurls  empires  down  upon  etn- 
oires  in  the  fields  of  war,  speaks  words  that  can  not  die, 
sings  to  distant  realms  and  peoples  across  vast  ages  of 
lime ;  in  a  word,  be  executes  all  that  is  included  in  history, 
showing  his  tremendous  energy  in  almost  every  thing  that 
stirs  the  silence  and  changes  the  conditions  of  the  world. 
Every  thing  is  transformed  by  him  even  up  to  the  stars. 
Not  all  the  wmds,  and  storms,  and  earthquakes,  and  seas, 
and  seasons  of  the  world,  have  done  as  much  to  revolu- 
tionize the  world  as  he,  the  power  of  an  endless  life,  has 
done  since  the  day  he  came  forth  upon  it,  and  received,  as 
he  is  most  truly  declared  to  have  done,  dominion  over  it, 
And  yet  we  have,  in  the  power  thus  developed,  nothin<^ 
more  than  a  mere  hint  or  initial  sign  of  what  is  to  be  the 
real  stature  of  his  personality  in  the  process  of  his  ever- 
lasting development.  We  exist  here  only  in  the  small, 
that  God  may  have  us  in  a  state  of  flexibility,  and  bend 
or  fashion  us,  at  the  best  advantage,  to  the  model  of  his 
own  great  life  and  character.  And  most  of  us,  therefore, 
have  scarcely  a  conception  of  the  exceeding  weight  of 
glory  to  be  comprehended  in  our  existence.  If  we  take,  for 
example,  the  faculty  of  memory,  how  very  obvious  is  il 
that  as  we  pass  eternally  on,  we  shall  have  more  and  more 
to  remember,  ^nd  finally  shall  Lave  gathered  in  more  intc 
this  great  storehouse  of  the  soul,  than  is  now  contained  in 


THE    FOWEK    CK    A]SI     ENDLESS    LIFE.        81i 

all  the  libraries  of  the  world.  And  there  is  not  one  of 
our  faculties  that  has  not,  in  its  volume,  a  similar  power 
of  expansion.  Indeed,  if  it  were  not  so,  the  memory 
would  finally  overflow  and  drown  all  our  other  faculties, 
and  the  spirits,  instead  of  being  powers,  would  virtually 
cease  to  be  any  thing  more  than  registers  of  the  past. 

But  we  are  not  obliged  to  take  our  conclusion  by  infer- 
ence. We  can  see  for  ourselves  that  the  associations  of 
the  mind,  which  are  a  great  part  of  its  riches,  must  be 
increasing  in  number  and  variety  forever,  stimulating 
thought  by  multipljdng  its  suggestives,  and  beautifying 
thought  by  weaving  into  it  the  colors  of  sentiment,  end- 
lessly varied. 

Tlie  imagination  is  gathering  in  its  images  and  kindling 
its  eternal  fires  in  the  same  manner.  Having  passed 
through  man}''  trains  of  worlds,  mixing  with  scenes,  socie- 
ties, orders  of  intelligence  and  powers  of  beatitude — just 
that  which  made  the  apostle  in  Patmos  into  a  poet,  by  the 
visions  of  a  single  day — -it  is  impossible  that  every  soul 
should  not  finally  become  filled  with  a  glorious  and  pow- 
erful imagery,  and  be  waked  to  a  wonderfully  creative 
energy. 

By  the  supposition  it  is  another  incident  of  this  power 
i>f  endless  life,  that  passing  down  the  eternal  galleries  of 
fact  and  event,  it  must  be  forever  having  new  cognitions 
and  accumulating  new  premises.  By  its  own  contacts  it 
\nill,  at  some  future  time,  have  touched  even  whole  worlds 
and  felt  them  through  and  made  premises  of  all  there  is 
in  them.  It  will  know  God  by  experiences  correspond 
ently  enlarged,  and  itself  by  a  consciousness  correspond- 
ently  illuminated.  Having  gathered  ,in,  at  last,  such 
worlds  of  premise,  it  is  difficult  for  us  now  to  conceive 


812        THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE. 

the  Yigor  into  wliicli  a  soul  may  come,  or  the  volume  it 
may  exhibit,  the  wonderful  depth  and  scope  of  its  judg- 
ments, its  rapidity  and  certainty,  and  the  vastness  of  its 
generalizations.  It  passes  over  more  and  more,  and  that 
necessarily,  from  the  condition  of  a  creature  gathering  up 
pre  Ttiises,  into  the  condition  of  God,  creating  out  of  prem- 
ises; for  if  it  is  not  actually  set  to  the  creation  of  worlds, 
its  very  thoughts  will  be  a  discoursing  in  world -problems 
and  theories  equally  vast  in  their  complications. 

In  the  same  manner,  the  executive  energy  of  the  will, 
the  volume  of  the  benevolent  affections,  and  all  the  active 
powers,  will  be  showing,  more  and  more  impressively, 
what  it  is  to  be  a  power  of  endless  life.  They  that  have 
been  swift  in  doing  God's  will  and  fulfilling  his  mighty 
errands,  will  acquire  a  marvelous  address  and  energy  in 
the  use  of  their  powers.  They  that  have  taken  worlds 
into  their  love  will  have  a  love  correspondently  capacious, 
whereupon  also  it  will  be  seen  that  their  will  is  settled  in 
firmness,  and  raised  in  majesty  according  to  the  vastnesa 
of  impulse  there  is  in  the  love  behind  it.  They  that  have 
gieat  thoughts,  too,  will  be  able  to  manage  great  causes, 
and  they  that  are  lubricated  eternally  in  the  joys  that  feed 
their  activity,  will  never  tire.  What  force,  then,  must  be 
finally  developed  in  what  now  appears  to  be  the  tenuous 
and  fickle  impulse,  and  the  merely  frictional  activity  of  a 
human  soul. 

On  this  subject  the  scriptures  indulge  in  no  declamation, 
l.ut  only  speak  in  hints  and  start  us  off  by  questions,  well 
iinderstaiiding  that  the  utmost  the}^  can  do  is  to  waken  in 
MS  ihe  sense  of  a  future  scale  of  being  unimaginable,  and 
beyond  the  compass  of  our  definite  thonglit.  Here  thev 
diivc  lift  out  in  tlie  almost  cold  mathenia^^ical  question — 


THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE.        813 

what  shall  it  profit  a  man  to  gain  the  whole  world  and 
lose  his  own  soul?     Here  they  show  us  in  John's  vision, 
Moses  and  Elijah,  as  angels,  suggesting  our  future  classifi- 
cation among  angels,  which  are  sometimes  called  chariots 
of  God,  to  indicate  their  excelling  strength  and  swiftness 
in  careering  through  his  empire,  to  do  his  will.     Here  they 
speak   of  powers   unimaginable  as  regards    the   volume 
of  their   personality,    calling   them    dominions,   thrones, 
principalities,  powers,   and    appear  to  set  us  on  a  foot- 
ing with  these  dim  majesties.     Here  they  notify  us  that  it 
doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be.     Here  they  call  us 
sons  of  God.     Here  they  bolt  upon  us — But  I  said  ye  are 
gods;  as  if  meaning  to  waken  us  by  a  shock!     In  these 
<ind  all  ways  possible,  they  contrive  to  start  some  better 
conception  in  us  of  ourselves,  and  of  the  immense  signifi- 
rance  of  the  soul ;  forbidding  us  always  to  be  the  dull 
mediocrities   into  'which,  under  the  stupor  of  our  unbe- 
lief, we   are  commonly  so   ready  to  subside.     0,  if  we 
could  tear  aside  the  veil,  and  see  for  but  one  hour  what  it 
signifies  to   be  a  soul  in  the  power  of  an  endless  life, 
what  a  revelation  would  it  be ! 

But  thrie  is  yet  another  side  or  element  of  meaning  sug- 
gested b}^  this  expression,  which  requires  to  be  noted.  It 
looks  on  the  soul  as  a  falling  power,  a  bad  force,  rushing 
downward  into  ruinous  and  final  disorder.  If  we  call  it  a 
principality  in  its  possible  volume,  it  is  a  falling  princi- 
pality. It  was  this  which  made  the  mighty  priesthood  o.^ 
the  Lord  necessary.  For  the  moment  we  look  in  upon  the 
soul's  great  movement  as  a  power,  and  find  sin  entered 
tht  re,  we  perceive  that  every  thing  is  in  disorder.  It  is  like 
a  mighty  engine  in  which  some  pivot  or  lever  is  broken, 
whirling  and  crashing  and  driving   itself    into  a  wreck. 

27 


314      THi;  rowER  of  A^^  endless  life. 

The  disastrous  effects  of  si.i  in  a  soul  will  be  juBt  accord- 
ing to  the  powers  it  contains,  or  embodies ;  for  every  force 
becomes  a  bad  force,  a  misdirected  and  self-destructive  force, 
a  force  which  can  never  be  restored,  save  by  some  othei 
wliich  is  mightier  and  superior.  What,  in  this  view,  caa 
be  more  frightful  than  the  disorders  loosened  in  it  by  8 
state  of  sin. 

And  what  shall  we  say  of  the  result  or  end  ?  Must  the 
immortal  nature  still  increase  in  volume  without  limit, 
and  so  in  the  volume  of  its  miseries ;  or  only  in  its  mis- 
eries by  the  conscious  depths  of  shame  and  weakness  into 
which  it  is  falling  ?  On  this  subject  I  know  not  what  to 
say.  We  do  see  that  bad  minds,  in  their  evil  life,  gather 
force  and  expand  in  many,  at  least,  of  their  capabilities, 
on  to  a  certain  point  or  limit.  As  far  as  to  that  point  or 
limit,  they  appear  to  grow  intense,  powerful,  and,  as  the 
world  says,  great.  But  they  seem,  at  last,  and  apart  from 
the  mere  decay  of  years,  to  begin  a  diminishing  process ; 
they  grow  jealous,  imperious,  cruel,  and  so  far  weak. 
They  become  little,  in  the  girding  of  their  own  stringent 
selfishness.  They  burn  to  a  cinder  in  the  heat  of  their 
own  devilish  passion.  And  so,  beginning  as  heroes  and 
demigods,  they  many  of  them  taper  off  into  awfully  in- 
tense but  still  little  men — intense  at  a  mere  point;  which 
appears  to  be  the  conception  of  a  fiend.  Is  it  so  that  tlic 
bitterness  of  hell  is  finally  created?  Is  it  toward  tlii? 
pimgent,  acrid,  awfully  intensified,  and  talented  littl«;ncss, 
that  all  souls  under  sin  are  gravitating?  However  thif 
may  be,  we  can  see  for  ourselves  that  the  disorders  of  sin, 
running  loose  in  human  souls,  must  be  driving  them  down- 
ward into  everlasting  and  complete  ruin,  the  wreck  (  f  ail 
that  is  mightiest  and  loftiest  in  their  immortality.     One 


THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE  315 

of  the  sublimest  and  most  fearful  pictures  ever  given  of 
this  you  will  find  in  the  first  chapter  to  the  Eomans.  1\ 
reads  like  some  battle  among  the  gods,  where  all  that  ia 
great  and  terriVis  and  wild  in  the  confusion,  answers  to  the 
majesty  of  the  powers  engaged.  And  this  is  man,  the 
power  of  an  endless  life,  under  sin.  By  what  adequate 
power,  in  earth  or  in  heaven,  shall  that  sin  be  taken  away? 
This  brings  me  to  consider — 

ri.  What  Christ,  in  his  eternal  priesthood,  has  done ; 
or  the  fitness  and  practical  necessity  of  it,  as  related  to  the 
stupendous  exigency  of  our  redemption. 

The  great  impediment  which  the  gospel  of  Christ  en- 
counters, in  our  world,  that  which  most  fatally  hinders  its 
reception,  or  embrace,  is  that  it  is  too  great  a  work.  T 
transcends  our  belief,  it  wears  a  look  of  extravagance. 
We  are  beings  too  insignificant  and  low  to  engage  any 
such  interest  on  the  ptirt  of  God,  or  justify  any  such  ex- 
penditure. The  preparations  made,  and  the  parts  acted, 
are  not  in  the  proportions  of  reason,  and  the  very  terms 
of  the  great  salvation  have,  to  our  dull  ears,  a  declamatory 
sound.  How  can  we  really  think  that  the  eternal  God 
has  set  these  more  than  ej^ic  machineries  at  work  for  sucb 
a  creature  as  man  ? 

My  principal  object,  therefore,  in  the  contemplations 
raised  by  this  topic,  has  been  to  start  some  conception  cf 
ourselves,  in  the  power  of  an  endless  life,  that  is  more 
adequate.  Mere  immortality,  or  everlasting  continuance, 
"when  it  is  the  continuance  only  of  littleness  or  mediocrity, 
does  not  make  a  platform  or  occasion  high  enough  for  this 
great  mystery  of  the  gospel.  It  is  only  when  we  sec  in 
humao  souls,  taken  as  germs  of  power,  a  future  magniiudt 


3i.6        THE    POWER    OF    AN     ENDLESS    LIFE. 

and  majesty  transcending  all  present  measures,  that  we 
3ome  into  any  fit  conception  at  all  of  Clirist's  mission  to 
the  world.  Entering  the  gospel  at  this  point,  and  regard 
ing  it  as  a  work  undertaken  for  the  reaernption  of  b(3inga 
scarcely  imagined  as  yet,  of  dominions,  principalities, 
powers, — spiritual  intelligences  so  transcendent  that  we 
have,  as  yet,  no  words  to  name  them, — every  thing  done 
takes  a  look  of  proportion  ;  it  appears  even  to  be  needed. 
and  we  readily  admit  that  nothing  less  could  suffice  to 
restore  the  falling  powers,  or  stop  the  tragic  disorders 
loosened  in  them  by  their  sin.  How  much  more  if,  instead 
of  drawing  thus  upon  our  imagination,  we  could  definitely 
grasp  the  real  import  of  our  being,  that  which  hitherto  is 
only  indicated,  never  displayed,  and  have  it  as  a  matter 
of  positive  and  distinct  apprehension.  This  power  of 
endless  life — could  we  lay  hold  of  it ;  could  we  truly  feel 
its  movement  in  us,  and  follow  the  internal  presage  to  its 
mark ;  or  could  we  only  grasp  the  bad  force  there  is  in  it 
and  know  it  rushing  downward,  in  the  terrible  lava-flood 
of  its  disorders,  how  true  and  rational,  how  magnificently 
divine  would  the  great  salvation  of  Christ  appear,  and  in 
how  great  dread  of  ourselves  should  we  hasten  to  it  for 
refuge ! 

Then  it  would  shock  us  no  more  that  visibly  it  is  no 
mere  man  that  has  arrived.  Were  he  only  a  human 
ieacher,  reformer,  philosopher,  coming  in  our  human 
plane  to  lecture  on  our  self-improvement  as  men,  iti  tlie 
measures  of  men,  he  would  even  be  less  credible  than  now. 
Nothing  meets  our  want,  in  fact,  but  to  sec  the  boundaries 
of  nature  and  time  break  way  to  let  in  a  being  and  a 
power  visibly  not  of  this  world.  Let  him  be  the  EternaJ 
F)on  of  God  and  Word  of  the  Father,  lescending  out  of 


TBE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE.        317 

higher  vjorlds  to  be  incarnate  in  this.     As  we  have  lost 
oxir  measures,  let  us  recover  them,  if  possible,  in  the  s^nse 
restored  of  our  everlasting  brotherhood  with  lum.     Let 
him  so  be  made  a  priest  for  us,  not  after  the  law  of  a  car 
nal  commandment,  but  after  the  power  of  an  endless  life  — 
the  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory  and  the  express  image 
of  his  person — God  manifest  in  the  flesh — God  in  Christ, 
reconciling  the  world  unto  himself.     All  the  better  and 
more  proportionate  and  probable  is  it,  if  he  comes  herahhid 
by  innumerable  angels,  bursting  into  the  sky,  to  congratu- 
late their  fallen  peei's  with  songs  of  deliverance- — Glory  to 
God  in  the  Highest,  peace  on  earth,  good  will  toward  men. 
Humbled  to  the  flesh  and  its  external  conditions,  he  will 
only  the  more  certainly  even  himself  with  our  want,  if  he 
dares  to  say — Before  Abraham  was,  I  am — all  powei'  is 
given  unto  me  in  heaven  and  in  earth.     Is  he  faultless,  su 
that  no  man  convinceth  him  of  sin,  revealing  in  the  humble 
guise  of  hum-anity  the  absolute  beauty  of  God ;   how  could 
any  thing  less  or  inferior  meet  our  want?     If  he  dares  to 
make  the  most  astounding  pretensions,  all  the  better,  if 
only  his  pretensions  are  borne  out  by  his  life  and  actions 
Let  him  heal  the  sick,  feed  the  hungry,  still  the  sea  by  his 
word.     Let  his  doctrine  not  be  human,  let  it  bear  the  stamp 
of  a  higher  mind  and  be  verified  and  sealed  by  the  perfec- 
tion of  his  character.     Let  him  be  transfigured,  if  he  ma}, 
in  the  sight  of  two  worlds;  of  angels  from  the  upper, an  1 
of  men  from  this  ;   that,  beholding  his  excellent  glory,  U'^ 
lioubt  may  be  left  of  his  transcendent  quality. 

Nd  matter  if  the  men  that  follow  him  and  love  him  are, 
just  for  the  time,  too  slow  to  apprehend  him.  How  could 
they  see,  with  eyes  holden,  the  divinity  that  is  hid  undo 
such  a  garb  of  poverty  and  patieu(;e  ?     How  could  thcj 

■27* 


318        THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    L.FE. 

seize  on  the  possibility  that  this  man  of  sorrows  is  nneal 
ing  even  the  depths  of  God's  eternal  love,  by  these  more 
than  mortal  burdens?  If  tlie  factitious  distinctions  of  so 
3iety  pass  for  nothing  vith  liim,  if  he  takes  his  lot  among 
tl.ie  outcast  poor,  how  else  could  he  show  that  it  is  not  any 
tier  of  quality,  but  our  great  fallen  humanity,  the  power 
of  an  endless  life,  that  engages  him.  And  when,  with  o 
degree  of  unconcern  that  is  itself  sublime,  he  says^ — Thu 
prince  of  this  world  cometh  and  hath  nothing  in  me;  how 
else  could  he  convey  so  fitly  the  impression  that  the  high- 
est royalty  and  stateliest  throne  to  him  is  simple  man 
liimself? 

But  the  tragedy  gathers  to  its  last  act,  and  fearful  is  to 
oe  the  close.  Never  did  the  powers  of  eternity,  or  endless 
life  in  souls,  reveal  themselves  so  terribly  before.  But  he 
came  to  break  their  force,  and  how  so  certainly  as  to  lot  it 
break  itself  across  his  patience?  By  his  miracles  and 
reproofs,  and  quite  as  much  by  the  unknown  mystery  of 
greatnetfi  in  his  character,  the  deepest  depths  of  malice  in 
immortal  evil  are  now  finally  stirred;  the  world's  wild 
wrath  is  concentered  on  his  person,  and  his  soul  is,  for  the 
hour,  under  an  eclipse  of  sorrow ;  exceeding  sorrowful  even 
Unto  death.  But  the  agony  is  shortly  passed ;  he  says,  I 
am  ready ;  and  they  take  him,  Sou  of  God  though  he  be, 
and  Word  of  the  Father,  and  Lord  of  glory,  to  a  crosa 
They  nail  him  fast,  and  what  a  sign  do  they  give,  in  that 
dire  phrenzy,  of  the  immortal  depth  of  their  passion !  The 
Bun  refuses  to  look  on  the  sight,  and  the  frame  of  nature 
shudders'  He  dies!  it  is  finished!  The  body  that  was 
taken  for  endurance  ar.d  patience,  has  drunk  up  all  the 
gall  of  the  woi'ld's  malice,  and  now  rests  in  the  tomb. 

N^o!  there  is  Eiore.     Lol  he  is  not  here,  but  is  risoT). 


THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE  319 

^}ie  has  burst  the  bars  of  death  and  become  the  first  fruiti 
of  them  that  slept.  In  that  sign  behoki  his  victory.  Just 
tltat  is  done  which  signifies  eternal  redemption — the  con- 
quest and  recovery  of  free  minds,  taken  as  powers  disman- 
tled by  eternal  evil.  By  this  offering,  once  for  all  the  work 
is  finished.  What  can  evil  do,  or  passion,  after  this,  whci? 
its  bitterest  arrows,  shot  into  the  divine  patience,  are  bv 
that  patience  so  tenderly  and  sovereignly  broken  ?  There- 
fore now  to  make  the  triumph  evident,  he  ascends,  a  visi- 
ble conqueror,  to  the  Father,  there  to  stand  as  priest  for- 
ever, sending  forth  his  S})irit  to  seal,  and  testifying  that 
lie  is  able  to  save  unto  the  uttermost  all  that  come  unto 
God  by  him. 

This,  in  brief  historic  outline,  is  the  great  sal- 
vation. And  it  is  not  too  great.  It  stands  in  glorious 
proportion  with  the  work  to  be  done.  Nothing  else  or  less 
would  suffice.  It  is  a  work  supernatural  transacted  in  tht 
plane  of  nature;  and  what  but  such  a  work  could  regtore 
the  broken  oixler  of  the  soul  under  evil?  It  incarnates 
God  in  the  world,  and  what  but  some  such  opening  of  the 
senses  to  God  or  of  God  to  the  senses,  could  reinstate  him 
in  minds  that  have  lost  the  consciousness  of  him,  and  fallen 
off  to  live  apart?  What  but  this  could  enter  him  again^ 
as  a  power,  into  the  world's  life  and  history?  We  are 
astonished  by  the  revelati  m  of  divine  feeling ;  the  expense 
of  the  sacrifice  wears  a  look  of  extravagance.  If  we  are 
only  the  dull  mediocrities  we  commonly  take  ourselves  to 
be,  it  is  quite  incredible.  But  if  God,  seeing  through  our 
possibilities  njto  our  real  eternities,  comprehends,  in  the 
view,  all  we  are  to  be  or  become,  as  powers  of  endless  lile, 
IS  there  not  some  probability  that  he  discovers  a  good  deal 
more  in  us  than  we  do  in  oarselves ;  enough  to  justify  all 


320         THE    POWER    OF    AN     ENDLESS    LIFE, 

the  concern  he  testifies,  all  the  sacrifice  he  makes  in  Ih', 
passion  of  his  Son  ?  And  as  God  has  accurately  weighed 
the  worlds  and  even  the  atoms,  accurately  set  them  in 
their  distances-  and  altitudes,  has  he  not  also  in  this  incarn 
lite  grace  and  passion,  which  offend  so  many  by  their  ox- 
coss,  measured  accurately  the  unknown  depths  and  mag 
nitudes  of  our  eternity,  the  momentum  of  our  fall,  the 
tragic  mystery  of  our  disorder?  And  if  we  can  not  com 
prehend  ourselves,  if  we  are  even  a  mystery  to  ourselves, 
what  should  his  salvation  be  but  a  mystery  of  godlinesa 
equally  transcendent?  If  Christ  were  a  philosopher,  a 
human  teacher,  a  human  example,  we  might  doubtless 
reason  him  and  set  him  in  our  present  scales  of  proportion, 
but  he  would  as  certainly  do  nothing  for  us  equal  to  out 
want. 

Inasmuch  as  our  understanding  has  not  yet  reached  oui 
measures,  we  plainly  want  a  grace  which  only  faith  can 
receive ;  for  it  is  the  distinction  of  faith  that  it  can  receive 
a  medication  it  can  not  definitely  trace,  and  admit  into  the 
consciousness  what  it  can  not  master  in  thought,  Christ 
therefore  comes  not  as  a  problem  given  to  our  reason,  but 
as  a  salvation  offered  to  our  faith.  His  passion  reaches  a 
deeper  point  in  us  than  we  can  definitely  think,  and  his 
Eternal  Spirit  is  a  healing  priesthood  for  us,  in  the  lowest 
and  profoundest  roots  of  our  great  immortality,  those 
whiih  we  have  never  seen  ourselves.  By  our  faith  in  liim 
too  as  a  mystery,  he  comes  into  our  gui"-iness,  at  a  point 
V>ack  of  all  speculative  comprehension,  restoring  that 
peace  of  innocence  which  is  speculatively  impossible;  foi 
how  in  mere  speculation  can  any  thing  done  for  our  sin, 
annihilate  the  fact;  and  without  that,  how  take  our  guilt 
away?     Still  it  goes!     We  know,  as  we  cinbrace  him, 


THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LIFE.        821 

that  it  goes!  lie  has  leached  a  point  in  us.  by  his  myste- 
rious priesthood,  deep  enough  even  to  take  our  guiltiness 
away,  and  establish  us  in  a  peace  that  is  even  as  the  peace 
of  innocence! 

So,  if  we  speak  of  our  passions,  our  internal  disorders. 
tLe  wild,  confused  and  even  downward  rush  of  our  ia- 
Lh railed  powers,  he  performs,  in  a  mystery  of  love  and 
the  Sjoirit,  what  no  teaching  or  example  could.  The  man- 
ner we  can  trace  by  no  effort  of  the  understanding;  we 
can  only  see  that  he  is  somehow  able  to  come  into  the 
very  germ  principle  of  our  life,  and  be  a  central,  regulating, 
new-creating  force  in  our  disordered  growtli  itself  And 
if  we  speak  of  righteousness,  it  is  ours,  when  it  is  not 
ours ;  how  can  a  being  unrighteous  be  established  in  the 
sense  of  righteousness?  Logically,  or  according  to  the 
sentence  of  our  speculative  reason,  it  is  impossible.  And 
yet,  in  Christ,  we  have  it !  We  are  consciously  in  it,  as  we 
are  in  him,  and  all  we  can  say  is,  that  it  is  the  righteousness 
of  God,  by  faith,  unto  all  and  upon  all  them  that  believe. 

But  I  must  draw  my  subject  to  a  close.  It  is  a  common 
impression  with  persons  who  hear,  but  do  not  accept,  the 
calls  of  Christ  and  his  salvation,  that  they  are  required  to 
be  somewhat  less  in  order  to  be  Christian.  They  must  be 
diminished  in  quantity,  taken  down,  shortened,  made 
feeble  and  little,  and  then,  by  the  time  they  have  let  go 
their  manhood,  they  will  possibly  come  into  the  way  of 
salvation.  They  hear  it  declared  that,  in  becoming  little 
children,  tumble,  meek,  poor  in  spirit;  in  ceai?iiig  from 
our  will  and  reason ;  and  in  giving  up  ourselves,  our 
eagerness,  revenge,  and  passion, — thus,  and  thus  only,  can 
we  be  accepted ;  but,  instead  of  taking  all  these  as  so  iv-i,uy 


322         THE    POWER    OF    AN    hlNDLESS    LIFE. 

figures  antagonistic  lo  our  pride,  our  ambition,  and  the 
determined  self-pleasing  of  our  sin,  they  take  them  abso« 
lutely,  as  requiring  a  real  surrender  and  loss  of  our  propei 
manhood  itself.  Exactly  contrary  to  this,  the  gospel  re- 
quires them  to  be  more  than  they  are, — greater,  higher, 
Qobler,  stronger, — all  which  they  were  made  to  be  m  the 
power  of  their  endless  life.  These  expressions,  just  referrea 
to  have  no  other  aim  than  simply  to  cut  off  weaknesses, 
break  down  infirmities,  tear  awa}^  boundaries,  and  let  the 
soul  out  into  liberty,  and  power,  and  greatness.  What  ia 
weaker  than  pride,  self-will,  revenge,  the  puffing  of  con- 
ceit and  rationality,  the  constringing  littleness  of  all  selfish 
passion.  And,  in  just  these  things  it  is  that  human  souls 
are  so  fatally  shrunk  in  all  their  conceptions  of  themselves ; 
•o  that  Christ  encounters,  in  all  men,  this  first  and  moet 
msurmountable  difficulty ;  to  make  them  apprised  of  their 
real  value  to  themselves.  For,  no  sooner  do  they  wake  to 
the  sense  of  their  great  immortality  than  they  are  even 
oppressed  by  it.  Every  thing  else  shrinks  to  nothingness, 
and  they  go  to  him  for  life.  And  then,  when  they  receive 
him,  it  is  even  a  bursting  forth  into  magnitude.  A  new 
inspiration  is  upon  them,  all  their  powers  are  exalted,  a 
wondrous  inconceivable  energy  is  felt,  and,  having  come 
into  the  sense  of  God,  which  is  the  element  of  all  real 
greatness,  they  discover,  as  it  were  in  amazement,  what  it 
ia  to  be  in  the  true  capacity. 

A  similar  mistake  is  connected  with  their  impressions  o/ 
faith.  They  are  jealous  of  faith,  as  being  only  weakness. 
They  blame  the  gospel,  because  it  requires  faith,  as  a  con- 
dition of  salvation.  And  yet,  as  I  have  here  abundantly 
shown ^  it  requires  faith  just  because  it  is  a  salvation  large 
enough  to  meet  the  measures  of  the  soul,  as  a  power  o^ 


THE     POWER    OF    AN     ENDLESS    LIFE.         323 

endlesa  life.  And,  O,  if  you  could  once  get  away,  my 
friends,  from  that  sense  of  mediocrity  and  nothingness  to 
which  you  are  shut  up,  under  the  stupor  of  your  self-seek- 
ing and  your  sin,  how  easy  would  it  be  for  you  to  believe; 
Na},  if  but  some  faintest  suspicion  could  steal  into  you  of 
what  your  soul  is,  and  the  tremendous  evils  working  in  it, 
tiotiiing  but  the  mystery  of  Christ's  death  and  passion 
would  be  sufficient  for  you.  Now  you  are  nothing  to 
yourselves,  and  therefore  Christ  is  too  great,  the  mystery 
of  his  cross  an  offense.  0,  thou  spirit  of  grace,  visit  these 
darkened  minds,  to  whom  thy  gospel  is  hid,  and  let  the 
light  of  the  knowledge  of  the  glory  of  God,  in  the  face  of 
Jesus  Christ,  shine  into  them  !  Raise  in  them  the  piercing 
question,  that  tears  the  woi'ld  away  and  displays  the  grim- 
ace of  its  follies, — What  shall  it  profit  a  man  to  gain  the 
whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ? 

I  should  do  you  a  wrong  to  close  this  subject  without 
conducting  your  minds  forward  to  those  anticipations  of 
the  future  which  it  so  naturally  suggests.  You  have  all 
observed  the  remarkable  interest  which  beings  of  other 
worlds  are  shown,  here  and  there  in  the  scripture,  to  feel 
in  the  transactions  of  this.  These,  like  us,  are  powers  of 
endless  life,  intelligences  that  have  had  a  history  parallel 
to  our  own.  Some  of  them,  doubtless,  have  existed  myri- 
ads of  ages,  and  consequently  now  are  far  on  in  the  course 
of  their  development, — far  enough  on  to  have  discerned 
what  existence  is,  and  the  amount  of  power  and  dignity 
th^re  is  in  it.  Hence  their  interest  in  us,  who  as  yet  are 
only  candidates,  in  their  view,  for  a  greatness  yet  to  be 
revealed.  And  the  interest  they  show  seems  extravagant 
to  us,  just  as  the  gospel  itself  is,  and  for  the  same  reasons. 
They  break  into  the  sky,  when  Christ  is  born,  chanting 


324         THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    IIFE. 

liieir  All-IIail.  They  visit  the  world  on  heavenly  errands 
and  perform  their  unseen  ministries  to  the  heirs  of  salva 
tion.  They  watch  for  our  repentances,  and  there  is  joj 
among  them  before  God,  when  but  one  is  gathered  to  Iheii 
company,  in  the  faith  of  salvation.  And  the  reason  is  that 
they  have  learned  so  much  about  the  proportions  and 
measures  of  things,  which  as  yet  are  hidden  from  us 
These  angels  that  excel  in  strength,  these  ancient  princes 
and  hierarchs  that  have  grown  up  in  God's  eternity  and 
unfolded  their  mighty  powers  in  whole  ages  of  good,  rec- 
ognize in  us  compeers  that  are  finally  to  be  advanced,  as 
they  are. 

And  here  is  the  point  where  our  true  future  dawns  upon 
us.  It  doth  not  yet  appear  what  w^e  shall  be.  We  lie  here 
in  our  nest,  unfledged  and  weak,  guessing  dimly  at  our 
future,  and  scarce  believing  wLs,t  even  now  appears.  But 
the  power  is  in  us,  and  that  power  is  to  be  finally  revealed. 
And  what  a  revelation  will  that  be!  Is  it  possible,  you 
will  ask  in  amazement,  that  you,  a  creature  that  was  sunk 
in  such  dullness,  and  sold  to  such  trivialities  in  your  bond- 
age to  the  world,  were,  all  this  time,  related  to  God  and  the 
ancient  orders  of  his  kingdom,  in  a  being  so  majestic! 

How  great  a  terror  to  some  of  you  may  that  discovery 
be!  I  can  not  say  exactly  how  it  w^ill  be  with  tJie  bad 
minds,  now  given  up  finally  to  their  disorders.  Fcwcrs 
of  endless  life  they  still  must  be ;  but  how  far  shrank  by 
that  stringent  selfishness,  how  far  burned  away,  as  magni- 
tudes, by  that  fierce  combustion  of  passion,  I  do  not  know. 
But,  if  they  diminish  in  volume  and  shrink  to  a  more  in- 
tersified  power  of  littleness  and  fiendishness,  eaten  out,  aa 
regards  all  highest  volume,  by  the  malice  of  evil  and  the 
aadying  worm  of  its  regrets,  it  will  not  be  so  with  tlie 


THE    POWER    OF    AN    ENDLESS    LJFE.         825 

righteous.  They  will  develop  greater  force  of  mind 
greater  volume  of  feeling,  greater  majesty  of  will  and 
character,  even  forever.  In  the  grand  mj^stery  of  Christ 
and  bis  eternal  priesthood, — Ciirist,  who  ever  liveth  U: 
make  intercession, — they  will  be  set  in  personal  and  ex- 
perimental connection  with  all  the  great  problems  of  gi'act 
and  counsels  of  love,  comprised  in  the  plan  by  which  they 
have  been  trained,  and  the  glories  to  which  they  are  ex- 
alted. Attaining  thus  to  greater  force  and  stature  of  spirit 
than  we  are  able  now  to  conceive,  they  have  exactly  that 
supplied  to  their  discovery  which  will  carry  them  still 
further  on,  with  the  greatest  expedition.  Their  subjects 
and  conferences  will  be  those  of  principalities  and  powers, 
and  the  conceptions  of  their  great  society  will  be  corres- 
pondent ;  for  they  are  now  coming  to  the  stature  necessary 
to  a  fit  contemplation  of  such  themes.  The  Lamb  of  re- 
demption and  the  throne  of  law,  and  a  government  compris- 
ing both  will  be  the  field  of  their  study,  and  they  will  find 
their  own  once  petty  experience  related  to  all  that  is  vast- 
est and  most  transcendent  in  the  works  and  appointments 
of  God's  empire.  0,  what  thoughts  will  spring  up  in  such 
minds,  surrounded  by  such  fellow  intelligences,  entered  on 
such  tliemes,  and  present  to  such  discoveries !  How  grand 
their  action  I  How  majestic  their  communion  1  Theii 
praise  how  august !  Their  joys  how  full  and  clear !  Shall 
we  ever  figure,  my  friends,  in  scenes  like  these  ?  0,  thia 
power  of  endless  life ! — great  King  of  Life,  and  Pi'ieat  of 
Eternity,  reveal  thyself  to  us,  and  us  to  ourselves,  and 
quicker   us  to  this  unknown  future  before  us. 


XVII, 

RESPECTABLE   MS, 

Jobs  -yiii.  9.  —^^And  they  uliich  heard  it,  being  conviod'} 
b(/  tlieir  own  conscience,  icent  out,  one  hy  one,  hegvuniiig  at  mt 
ekiest,  even  vnio  the  last,  and  Jesus  loas  left  alone,  and  mt 
V)oman  startling  in  the  midst.'''' 

[l  is  witli  sins  as  with  men  or  ilmiilies,  some  have  pedi- 
gree and  some  have  not ;  for  there  are  kinds  and  modes  of 
.^in  that  have,  in  all  ages,  been  held  in  respect  and  em- 
balmed with  all  the  honors  of  history ;  and  there  are 
others  that  never  were  and  never  can  be  raised  above  the 
level  even  of  disgust.  The  noble  sins  will,  of  course,  be 
judged  in  a  very  different  manner  from  the  humble,  base- 
born  sins.  The  sins  of  fame,  honor,  place,  power,  bravery, 
genius,  always  in  good  repute,  will  not  seldom  be  admired 
and  applauded.  But  the  low-blooded  sins  of  felony,  and 
vice,  and  base  depravity  are  associated  with  brutality,  and 
are  universally  held  in  contempt.  Whether  the  real  de- 
merit of  the  two  classes  of  sin  is  measured  by  such  dis- 
tinctions is  more  questionable.  Such  distinctions  certainly 
had  little  weight  with  Christ.  He  was  even  more  eeverc 
upon  ihe  sins  of  learning,  wealth,  station,  and  religious 
SAnclimony,  than  upon  the  more  plebeian,  or  more  despised 
class  of  sins.  Indeed,  he  seems  to  look  directly  through 
all  tne  faix  conventionalities,  and  to  bring  his  judgment 
down  upon  some  poiiit  more  interior  and  deeper.  He  ap- 
pears, in  general,  to  be  thoroughly  disgusted  witl:  aU  tht 


KESPECTABLE    STN.  827 

mere  respectabilities,  wbetber  men  or  f^ins.  Tlie  hypocri- 
sies of  religion,  the  impostures  of  learning,  the  gildet' 
shows  of  wealth  gotten  by  extortion,  the  proud  airs  of 
authority  and  power  employed  in  acts  of  oppression,  pro* 
voke  liis  indignation,  and  he  deals  with  them  in  such 
terms  of  emphasis  as  indicate  the  profoundest  posaibla 
abhoirense. 

Hence  the  jealousy  with  which  he  was  watched  by  tha 
elders,  and  priests,  and  rulers ;  for  every  few  days  some 
Rabbi,  Scribe,  lawyer,  or  committee  of  such,  was  sent  out 
to  observe  him,  or  question  him,  or  draw  him,  if  possible, 
into  some  kind  of  treason  in  his  doctrine ;  because  they 
feared  his  influence  with  the  people,  lest  he  might  put 
himself  at  their  head  and  raise  a  great  revolution  that 
would  even  subvert  the  present  social  order. 

The  cunning  plot  his  enemies  are  working,  in  my  text, 
is  instigated  by  this  kind  of  fear.  He  is  teaching,  it  ap- 
pears, a  grea*--  multitude  of  people  in  the  temple,  when 
suddenly  a  company  of  Scribes  and  Pharisees  are  seen 
hustling  in  through  the  crowd,  leading  up  a  woman,  to  set 
her  before  him.  She  has  been  guilty,  they  say,  of  a  base 
crime  which  the  law  of  Moses  punishes  with  public  ston- 
ing and  death,  and  they  demand  of  him  what  shall  be  done 
with  her  ?  hoping  that,  out  of  the  same  perverse  favor  he 
is  wont  to  show  to  low  people,  he  will  take  the  woman's 
part,  and  so  give  them  the  desired  opportunity  to  thro^v 
contempt  on  his  character,  and  exasperate  the  pcpulm' 
superstition  against  him. 

Christ,  perceiving  apparently  their  design,  determines  to 
put  Ihem  to  confusion.  He  remains  a  long  time  silent, 
making  no  answer,  and  of  course  none  that  can  be  taken 
hold  of      They  press  him  for  a  reply;    still  no  reply  is 


828  RESPECTABLE    SIN. 

epven.  Tiiey  wait,  and  still  it  is  not  given.  There  tLsy 
stand  in  the  center  of  the  great  concourse,  all  looking  cu 
tliern,  and,  as  they  soon  begin  to  fancy,  looking  'lirectly 
into  them.  It  is  a  most  uncomfortable  position  for  thera. 
To  give  still  greater  pungency  to  their  thoughts,  Christ 
withdraws  his  eyes  from  them,  and,  as  if  waiting  f(<r  theh 
complete  confusion,  writes  abstractedly  on  the  pavement 
At,  length  they  grow  perplexed,  and  begin  to  ask  them- 
selves how  they  shall  get  out  of  their  \ery  awkward  pre- 
dicament. They  press  him  still  more  vehemently,  but  ho 
refuses  to  speak,  save  simply  to  say, — Let  the  man  of  you 
that  is  without  sin  throw  the  first  stone  at  the  w^oman,  if 
ghe  is  guilty ;  and  immediately  falls  to  writing  abstractedly 
on  the  ground  again.  The  arrow  sticks,  and  the  suspense 
of  silence  makes  them  more  and  more  conscious  of  the 
pain;  till  finally  they  can  bear  it  no  longer.  Convicted 
thus  by  their  own  conscience,  they  went  out,  as  the  text 
has  it,  one  by  one,  beginning  at  the  eldest,  even  unto  the 
last,  and  Jesus  was  left  alone,  and  the  woman  standing  in 
the  midst. 

Look  upon  them  now,  as  they  withdraw,  and  follow 
them  with  your  eye,  as  probably  Christ  and  the  whole  as- 
sembly did.  Observe  the  mannerly  order  of  their  shame, — 
beginning  at  the  eldest,  even  unto  the  last!  See  how  care- 
fully they  keep  the  sacred  rules  of  good  breeding  and 
deference  to  age,  even  in  their  sniveling  defeat,  and  the 
chagrin  of  their  baffled  conspiracy,  and  you  will  begin  to 
find  hov/  base  a  thing  may  take  on  airs  of  dignity,  ane 
how  contemptible,,  in  fact,  these  airs  of  digmty  may  be. 

The  subjf^t  thus  presented  is  respectaUe  sin,  sin  that  takes 
on  the  semhkmce  of  goodness  and  judges  itself  Inj  the  dignity 


RESPECTABLE    SIN  829 

of  itii  manner  and  appearance.  Almost  all  the  really  greal 
or  sublime  sins  of  the  world  are  of  this  class,  and  I  shall 
undertake  to  show  that  this  more  respectable  type  of  sin 
iK  often,  if  not  generally,  deepest  in  the  spirit  of  sin,  and, 
"it;  the  sight  of  God,  most  guilty. 

Just  this,  1  think,  has  been  the  impresr-ion  of  you  all, 
in  thi3  remarkable  scene  referred  to  in  my  text.  These 
plausible  accusers,  pressing  in  with  their  victim  in  such 
airs  of  dignity,  and  retiring  in  such  careful  deference  to 
age  as  not  to  allow  even  a  year's  difference  to  be  disre- 
garded, have  3^et  been  virtually  detected  and  foiled  in  a 
thoroughly  wicked  conspirac}^  Had  they  been  a  gang  of 
thieves,  their  transaction  would  have  been  more  base  only 
in  the  name ;  for  it  was,  in  fact,  a  kind  of  dramatic  lie, 
deliberately  planned,  to  snare  an  artless,  worthy,  and  visi- 
bly holy  man.  Accordingly,  now  that  they  are  gone, 
driven  out  by  the  recoil  of  their  own  base  trick,  the  Sav- 
iour, without  using  any  word  of  reproach,  quietly  proceeds 
to  bring  out  the  scene  just  where  their  real  character  will 
be  most  impressively  displayed.  He  says  to  the  woman, — 
"Where  are  thine  accusers?  Hath  no  man  condemned 
thee?"  "No  man,  Lord."  "Neither  do  I;  go,  sin  no 
more."  Sinner  that  she  was,  not  even  these  sanctimonioua 
conspirators  could  stand  the  challenge  of  their  own  sins 
Jong  eitough  to  accuse  her.  And  the  result  is,  that  we  are 
left  by  Christ  in  the  impression,  and  that  designedly,  that 
on  the  whole,  the  woman,  in  her  most  shameful  sin,  waa 
reallj  less  of  a  sinner  than  they.  Her,  therefore,  we  pity. 
Them  we  denounce  and  despise.  How  many  things  are 
wo  ready  to  imagine,  that  might  soften  our  judgment  of 
hei  fall,  if  we  only  knew  the  secret  of  her  sad  history.    ( )iu 

28* 


330  RESPECTABLE    SIN, 

judgmcrit  of  tlieir  stratageiD.  on  the  otlier  hand,  permits 
fio  softening,  but  we  approve  ourselves  onlj  the  more  con- 
fidently, the  more  heartily  we  despise  and  the  more  unr»i- 
Ei,!ainedly  we  detest  their  hypocrisy  in  it.  In  pursiilng 
ur-w  this  very  serious  subject,  we  need, — 

First  of  all,  to  clear  the  influence  of  a  false  or  defective 
Impression,  growing  out  of  the  fact,  that  we  oursel  i^cs  are 
persons  that  live  so  entirely  in  the  atmosphere  of  character 
and  decenc}^  Our  range  of  life  is  so  walled  in  by  the  re- 
spectability of  our  associations,  that  what  is  on  the  other 
Bide  of  the  wall  is  very  much  a  world  unknown.  Hence 
we  have  no  such  opinion  or  impression  of  sin,  anywhere, 
as  we  ought  to  have.  It  is  with  us  all  our  life  long  and 
in  all  our  associations ;  much  as  it  is  with  us  here  in  out 
assembly  for  worship.  The  offen.sive  and  repulsive  forms 
of  sin  are  almost  never  here,  by  so  much  as  any  one  sign, 
or  symptom.  The  sin  is  here,  and  sin  that  wants  salvation : 
but  it  is  sin  so  thoroughly  respectable  as  to  make  it  very 
nearly  impossible  to  produce  any  just  impression  of  its 
deformity.  Sitting  here  in  this  atmosphere  of  decency 
and  order,  now  can  you  suffer  any  just  impression  of  the 
dreadful  nature  of  that  evil  which,  after  all,  wears  a  look 
so  plausible.  If  there  came  in  with  you,  to  mingle  in  your 
audience,  a  fair  representation  only  of  the  town ;  if  you 
heard,  in  the  porch,  the  profane  oaths  of  the  cellars  and 
hells  of  gambling;  if  you  looked  about  with  a  cautious 
fejjng,  right  and  left,  in  the  seat,  lest  some  one  might  rifle 
your  dress,  or  pick  your  pocket ;  if  the  victims  of  drink 
were  seen  reeling  into  the  scats,  here  and  there,  and  their 
hungry,  shivering  children  were  crying  at  the  door,  foi 
bread;  if  the  diseased  and  loathsome  relics  of  vice,  recog- 
uized  sometimes  as  the  sons  and  daughters  of  families  once 


RESPECTABLE    SIN.  831 

living  in  respect  and  affluence,  were  s]:)rinkled  aliotit  you 
tainting  the  air  jou  breathe;  in  a  word,  if  actual  life  were 
here,  in  correct  representation,  how  different  a  matte? 
would  it  be  for  me  to  speak  of  sin,  how  different  for  you 
to  hear !  And  the  same  holds  true  of  the  associations  of 
your  life  generally.  Sin,  in  its  really  levolting,  shocking 
fcr;7is  seldom  gets  near  enough  to  you  to  meet  your  eye. 
What  you  know  of  it  is  mostly  gotten  from  the  newspa- 
pers, and  is  scarcely  more  of  a  reality  to  you,  many  times, 
than  the  volcanoes  you  hear  of  in  the  moon. 

Secondly,  we  need  also  to  clear  another  false  or  defect- 
ive impression,  growing  out  of  the  general  tendency  in 
mankind  to  identify  sin  with  vice ;  and,  of  course,  to  judge, 
that  whatever  is  clear  of  vice  is  clear  also  of  sin ;  which, 
in  fact,  is  the  same  as  to  judge  that  whatever  sin  is  respect- 
able is  no  sin  at  all.  Or,  sometimes,  we  identify  sin  with 
acts  of  wrong,  or  personal  injury,  such  as  deeds  of  rob- 
bery, fraud,  seduction,  slander,  and  the  like.  In  this  view, 
again,  whatever  sin  is  respectable  enough  to  be  clear  of  all 
such  deeds  of  wrong  is,  of  course,  no  sin.  Whereas,  there, 
may  be  great  sin  where  there  is  no  vice,  bitter  and  deep 
guiltiness  before  God  where  there  is  never  one  act  of  per- 
sonal wrong  or  injury  committed.  All  vice,  all  M^rong, 
presupposes  sin,  but  sin  may  be  the  reigning  principh?  of 
the  life,  from  childhood  to  the  grave,  and  never  prothico 
one  scar  of  vice,  or  blamable  injuiy  to  a  fellow-being.  In.- 
deed  we  must  go  further,  we  must  definitely  say  that  evcD 
virtue  itself,  as  the  term  is  commonly  used,  classes  unde? 
Bin,  or  has  its  root  in  sin.  Virtue,  as  men  speak,  is  conduci 
approved  irrespecti\ely  of  any  good  principle  of  conduct 
and  it  is,  foi*  the  most  part,  a  goodness  wholl  v  negative, 
nDnsisting  in  the  not  doing,  the  abstaining,  and  keeping  off 


832  RESrECTABLE    SIN. 

from  whatc\'er  is  confessedly  base  and  vicious.  Sin,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  the  negation  of  good  as  respects  the  principle 
of  good.  Any  thing  is  sin,  as  God  judges,  which  is  not  in  the 
positive,  all-dominating  power  of  universal  love.  Any  thing 
called  virtue,  therefore,  which  consists  in  barely  not  d<  .iuof,  i^ 
sin  of  course ;  because  it  is  not  in  any  positive  principle  of 
love,  or  duty  to  God.  Half  the  sin  of  mankind,  therefore, 
consists,  oris  made  up  of  virtue;  that  is,  of  wdiat  is  generally 
called  virtue,  and  passes  for  a  virtuous  character  in  the  com- 
mon speech  of  men.  It  is,  in  fact,  respectable  sin,  nothing 
more ;  and  has  exactly  the  same  root  with  all  sin,  even  the 
worst ;  viz.,  the  not  being  in  God's  love  and  a  state  of 
positive  allegiance  to  God. 

Consider  now,  thirdly,  and  make  due  account  of  the 
fact,  that  respectable  sin  is  not  less  guilty  because  it  has  n 
less  revolting  aspect.  A  feeling  is  very  generally  indulged; 
even  by  such  as  are  confessedly  blamable  for  not  being  in 
the  christian  life,  that  their  blame  or  guilt  is  a  thing  of 
higher  and  finer  quality  than  it  would  be  under  the  ex- 
cesses and  degrading  vices  man)''  practice.  They  measure 
their  sin  by  their  outward  standing  and  conduct,  whereas 
all  sin  is  of  the  same  principle.  The  sin  of  one  class  is,  in 
fact,  the  sin  of  the  other,  as  respects  every  thing  but  man- 
ner and  degree.  There  are  different  kinds  of  vice,  but 
only  one  kind  of  sin ;  viz.,  the  state  of  being  without  God, 
or  out  of  allegiance  to  God.  All  evil  and  sin,  as  we  just 
now  saw,  are  of  this  same  negative  loot;  the  want  of  any 
holy  principle;'  the  state  set  off  from  God,  and  disem- 
powered  and  degraded  by  the  separation.  The  respectable 
sin,  therefore,  shades  into  the  uiirespectable,  not  as  being 
different  in  kind,  but  only  as  twilight  shades  into  the  niglit. 
The  evil  spirit,  called  sin,  iiiav  be  trained  up  to  politeness, 


RESPECTABLE    SIN,  333 

aiid  made  to  be  genteel  sin ;  it  may  be  elegant,  <;ultivat(>.d 
Bin ;  it  may  be  very  exclusive  and  fashionable  sin ;  it  maj 
b(>  industrious,  thrifty  sin ;  it  may  be  a  great  political 
manager,  a  great  commercial  operator,  a  great  inventor ;  i1 
may  be  learned,  scientific,  eloquent,  highly  poetic  sin  ;  still 
it  is  sin,  and,  being  that,  has  in  fact  the  same  radical  or 
fundamental  quality  that,  in  its  ranker  and  less  restrained 
conditions,  produce  all  the  most  hideous  and  revolting 
crimes  of  the  world. 

There  is  a  very  great  diiference,  I  admit,  between  a  cour- 
teous man  and  one  who  is  ill-natured  and  insulting,  between 
a  generous  man  and  a  niggard,  a  pure  and  a  lewd,  a  man 
who  lives  in  thought  and  a  man  who  lives  in  appetite,  n 
great  and  wise  operator  in  the  market  and  a  thief;  and 
yet,  taken  as  apart  from  all  accidental  modifications,  oi' 
deg]ees,  the  sin-quality  or  pi-inciple  is  exactly  the  same  in 
all.  As  in  water  face  answereth  to  face,  so  one  class  of 
hearts  to  the  other.  The  respectable  and  the  disgusting 
are  twin  brothers ;"  only  you  see  in  one  how  well  he  can 
be  made  to  look,  and  in  the  other  how  both  would  look, 
if  that  which  is  in  both  were  allowed  to  have  its  bent  and 
work  its  own  results  unrestrained. 

Again,  fourthly,  it  is  often  true  that  what  is  looked  upon 
as  respectable  sin  is  really  more  base  in  spirit,  or  internal 
quality,  than  that  which  is  more,  and  more  universally 
despised.  And  j^et  this  is  not  the  judgment  of  those  who 
are  most  apt  to  rule  the  judgments  of  the  world.  The  lies 
oi  high  life,  for  example,  are  the  liberties  asserted  by  powei 
and  respectable  audacity.  The  lies  of  commoners  and 
humble  persons  are  a  fatal,  irredeemable  dishonor.  The 
fashionable,  who  spurns  the  obligation  of  an  hon(!st  debt, 
18  only  asserting  *nc  rinht  and  title  of  fashion;  but  tha 


S34  RESPECTABLE    SIN. 

merchant,  or  the  tradesman,  who  avoids  the  payment  of 
liis  bond,  loses  his  honor  and  becomes  a  knave.  The  con- 
queror, who  overruns  and  desolates  a  kingdom,  will  be 
named  with  respect  or  admiration  by  liistory,  when,  prob 
nbly  enough,  Grod  will  look  upon  him  with  as  much  greatoi 
abhorrence,  than  if  he  had  robbed  a  hen-roost,  as  his  crime 
is  bloodier  and  more  afflictive  to  the  good  of  the  world 
How  very  respectable  those  learned  impostors  the  Scribes, 
and  those  sanctimonious  extortioners  the  Pharisees !  How 
base  those  knavish  tax-gatherers  and  sinners  in  low  life! 
But  Christ,  who  respected  not  th<»  appearance,  but  judged 
righteous  judgment,  had  a  different  opinion.  It  is  not  the 
show  of  a  sin,  my  friends,  which  makes  it  base,  but  it  is  it? 
interior  qualit}^, — what  it  is  in  motive,  feeling,  thought. 
It  is  the  gloat  of  inward  passion,  the  stringent  pinch  of 
meanness,  the  foulness  of  inward  desire  and  conception, 
the  fire  of  inward  malignity,  the  rot  of  lust  and  hypoe- 
risy.  It  is  not  for  me,  as  public  inspector  of  sins,  to  pass 
on  their  relative  quality,  or  fix  the  braftd  of  their  degree. 
I  will  only  say  that  the  outwardly  respectable  look  of  them 
is  no  good  test  of  their  qualit}^;  leaving  it,  as  a  question 
between  you  and  your  God,  whether,  if  all  the  inward 
shapes  of  your  thought,  motive,  feeling,  desire,  and  r>a.^sion 
were  brought  out  into  the  open  sight  of  this  community, 
and  all  the  false  and  factitious  rules  of  judgment  accepted 
by  us  were  swept  away,  it  might  not  possibly  appear  thai 
there  are  characters  here,  in  this  very  respectable  assembly, 
as  base  in  real  demerit  as  many  that  are  classed  among  the 
outcasts  of  ths  town. 

It  is  obvious,  fifthly,  that  what  I  am  calling  respectable 
sin  is  commonly  more  inexcusable, — not  always,  but  com 
monly.      Sometimes  the  mc.-'t  depraved  and  abandoned 


RESPECTABLE    SIN.  335 

chnract(TS  arc  those  who  have  cast  themselves  down,  by 
their  perversity,  from  the  highest  standing  of  privilege. 
But  however  this  may  be,  it  can  not  be  denied  that  the 
depraved  and  abject  classes  of  society  have,  to  a  great  ex- 
tcint,  been  trained  np  to  the  very  life  they  lead ;  to  be  idle 
and  beg,  to  be  cunning,  sharp,  predator}^,  in  one  way  or 
another,  thieves ;  to  look  upon  the  base  pleasures  of  self- 
indulgence  and  appetite  as  the  highest  rewards  of  exist- 
ence. They  are  ignorant  by  right  of  tlieir  origin,  brutal 
in  manners  and  feeling,  accustomed  only  to  what  is  lowest 
in  tlic  possible  range  of  human  character.  Sometimes, 
alas !  the  real  want  of  bread  has  made  them  desperate.  I 
will  not  become  the  sponsor  of  their  crime ;  enough  that 
they  are  criminal,  and  consciously  so.  But  who  is  there 
of  you  that  does  not  pity  their  hard  lot ;  who  of  you  that, 
considering  their  most  sad  history,  is  not  often  more  ready 
to  weep  over  than  to  judge  them.  Is  it  incredible  to  3'-ou 
that,  in  your  own  respectable  and  decent  life  of  sin,  taken 
as  related  to  your  high  advantages,  there  may  even  be  a 
degree  of  criminality,  which,  as  God  estimates  crime,  is  far 
more  inexcusable  than  that  for  which  many  are  doomed  to 
suffer  the  severest  and  most  ignominious  penalties  of  pub- 
lic law  ? 

I  add  a  single  consideration  further;  viz.,  that  respect 
able  sin  is  more  injurious,  or  a  greater  mischief,  than  ^e 
baser  and  more  disgusting  forms  of  vicious  abandonment. 
The  latter  create  for  us  greater  public  burdens,  in  the  way 
of  charity  and  taxation  for  the  poor,  and  of  judicial  pio- 
cecdings  and  punishments  for  public  malefactors.  They 
annoy  us  more  too  by  their  miseries  and  the  crimes  by 
which  they  disturb  the  security  and  peace  of  society.  And 
yet  it  is  really  a  lair  subject  of  doubt,  whether,  in  •»■  morai 


RESPECTABLE    SIN. 

J  oint  of  view,  they  have  not  a  wholesome  influence  au<T 
are  not  a  social  benefit.  They  tempt  no  one.  Contrary  to 
this,  they  repel  and  warn  away  from  vice  every  one  that 
looks  upon  them.  They  hang  out  a  flag  of  distress  upon 
every  shoal  of  temptation.  They  show  us  the  last  results 
of  all  sin,  and  the  colors  in  which  they  exhibit  sin  are  al- 
ways disgusting,  never  attractive.  In  this  view  they  are 
really  one  of  the  mora'l  wants  of  the  world.  We  should 
never  conceive  the  inherent  baseness  of  sin,  if  it  were  not 
shown  by  their  experiment;  revealed  in  their  delirium, 
their  rags,  their  bloated  faces,  and  bleared  eyes,  and  totter- 
ing bodies,  and,  more  than  all,  in  the  extinction  of  their 
human  feeling,  and  the  substitution  of  a  habit  or  type  of 
being  so  essentially  brutal.  We  look  down  into  this  hell 
that  vice  opens,  and  with  a  shudder  turn  away !  Mean- 
time, respectable  sin, — how  attractive,  how  fascinating  its 
pleasures.  Its  gay  hours,  its  shows  and  equipages,  its 
courteous  society,  its  entertainments,  its  surroundings  of 
courtly  form  and  incident, — how  delicious  to  the  inspec' 
tion  of  fancy.  Even  its  excesses  seem  to  be  only  a  name 
for  spirit.  The  places  of  temptation  too  are  not  the  hells 
and  brothels,  but  the  saloons  of  pleasure  and  elegant  dissi- 
pation. Vice  is  the  daughter  of  pleasure;  all  unrespect- 
fih]e  sin  the  daughter  of  respectable.  Nay,  if  we  go  to  the 
b<')ttoni,  church-going  sin  is  the  most  plausible  form  of  sin 
that  was  ever  invented,  and,  in  that  view,  the  most  danger- 
ous For,  if  a  man  never  goes  to  the  place  of  worship,  we 
t-r.kc  his  sin  with  a  warning,  or  at  least  with  some  littk 
t'onse  of  caution  ;  but,  if  he  is  regular  at  church,  a  respect- 
ful hearer  of  the  word,  a  sober,  correct,  thoughtful  man. 
still,  (though  never  a  Christian,)  a  safe,  successful,  always 
•"f'spected  never-faltering  cliaractcr,- -then  howxnany  will 


RESPECTABLE    SIN      ^  33/ 

be  ready  to  imagine  that  there  is  one  form  of  sin  that  is 
about  as  good  as  piety  itself,  and  possibly  even  better  than 
pi(;ty.  And  so  this  church-going  sin  gives  countenance 
ftBd  courage  to  all  other, — all  the  better  and  more  effective 
countenance  because  no  such  thing  is  intended.  There  is, 
in  short,  no  such  thing  as  taking  away  the  e\il  of  sin  by 
making  it  respectable.  Make  it  even  virtuous,  as  men 
speak,  and  it  will  only  be  the  worse  in  its  power,  as  regards 
the  enticements  it  offers  to  evil.  It  will  not  shock  any  one 
by  deeds  of  robbery  and  murder,  it  will  not  revolt  any  one 
by  its  disgusting  spectacles  of  shame  and  misery,  but  how 
many  will  it  encourage  and  shield,  in  just  that  rejection  of 
God,  which  is  to  be  their  bitter  fall  and  their  eternal  over- 
throw. 

It  is  scarcely  possible,  in  closing  this  very  serious  sub- 
ject, to  namic  and  duly  set  forth  all  the  applications  of 
which  it  is  capable,  or  which  it  even  presses  on  our 
n.ttent,ion. 

With  how  little  reason,  for  example,  arc  Christian  peo- 
ple, and  indeed  all  others,  cowed  by  the  mere  name  and 
standing  of  men,  who  are  living  still  under  the  power  of 
sin,  and  resisting  or  neglecting  still  the  grace  of  their  sal- 
vation. Doubtless  it  is  well  enough  to  look  on  them  with 
respect,  and  treat  them  with  a  just  deference ;  but  however 
high  they  may  seem,  allow  them  never  to  overtop  your 
pity.  For  what  is  the  fair  show  they  ma,ke,  but  a  mosi 
Horrowful  appeal  to  your  compassions  and  your  prayers? 
How  can  a  true  Christ-'an,  one  who  is  consciously  ennobled 
by  the  glorious  heirship  in  which  he  is  set,  ever  be  intiir- 
idated,  or  awed,  or  kept  back  in  his  approaches  or  bin 
prayers,  l)y  resjiect  to  that  which  is  only  respectable  sin  7 

20 


388  respectj\ble  sin. 

If  be  g3os  to  God,  entering  even  into  the  holiest  with 
holiness,  how  much  more  will  he  be  able  to  stand  before 
these  princes  of  name  and  title  and  power.  Lnd  speak  to 
tnem  of  Christ  and  his  great  salvation.  To  falter  in  this 
boldness,  brethren,  is  even  a  great  wrong  to  our  Master's 
gospel,  which  puts  us,  even  the  humblest  of  us,  in  a  higher 
plane  of  dignity  ;  far  far  above  any  most  honored  sinner 
of  mankind. 

Again,  it  is  impossible  in  such  a  subject  as  this,  not  to 
raise  the  question  of  morality,  what  it  is,  and  is  worth, 
and  where  it  will  land  us  in  the  great  allotments  of  eter- 
nity. Morality,  taken  as  apart  from  religion,  is  but 
another  name  for  decency  in  sin.  It  is  just  that  negative 
species  of  virtue,  which  consists  in  not  doing  what  is 
scandalously  depraved  or  wicked.  But  there  is  no  heart 
of  holy  principle  in  it,  any  more  than  there  is  in  the  cvorst 
of  felonies.  It  is  the  very  same  thing,  as  respects  the 
denial  of  God,  or  the  state  of  personal  separation  from 
God,  that  distinguishes  all  the  most  reprobate  forms  of 
character.  A  correct,  outwardly  virtuous  man  is  the  prin- 
ciple of  sin  well-dressed  and  respectably  kept — nothing 
more.  And  will  that  save  you?  You  can,  I  am  sure,  be 
in  no  great  danger  of  believing  that.  A  far  greater  dan- 
ger is  that  the  decent,  outwardly  respectable  manner  of 
your  sin  will  keep  you  from  the  discovery  of  its  leal 
nature,  as  a  root  of  character  in  you.  If  we  undertake 
to  set  forth  the  inherent  weakness  and  baseness  of  sin,  to 
open  up  the  vile  and  disgustful  qualities  which  make  it,  aa 
the  scripturv^s  declare,  abominable  and  hateful  to  God,  il 
we  speak  of  its  poisonous  and  bitter  effects  within,  and 
the  inevitable  an  I  awful  bondage   it  works   in  all   the 


RESPECTABLE     SIN.  339 

powers  of  choice  and  character,  who  of  you  can  believe 
what  we  say?  Such  representations,  you  will  think  if 
you  do  not  openly  say,  partake  of  extravagance.  Wha^ 
can  you  know  of  sin,  what  can  you  feel  of  your  deep 
spiritual  need,  when  you  are  living  so  respectably  an'l 
maintain  in  the  outward  life,  a  show  of  so  great  integrity, 
and  even  so  much  of  refinement  often  in  what  is  called 
virtue.  True  conviction  of  sin — how  difficult  is  it,  when 
its  appearances  and  modes  of  life  are  so  fair,  when  it 
twines  itself  so  cunningly  about,  or  creeps  so  insidiously 
into,  our  amiable  qualities,  and  sets  off  its  internal  disor- 
ders by  so  many  outward  charms  and  attractions ! 

If  then  we  are  right  in  this  estimate  of  m.orality  and 
the  very  great  dangers  involved  in  it,  how  necessary  is  it, 
for  a  similar  reason,  that  every  man  out  of  Christ,  vrs.i 
hving  in  any  vicious  practice,  should  set  himself  lo  me 
deliberate  canvassing  of  his  own  moral  state.  Make  a 
study  of  this  subtle,  cunningly  veiled  character,  the  state 
of  reputable  sin,  and  study  it  long  enough  to  fathom  its 
real  import.  Look  into  the  secret  motives  and  springs  of 
your  character ;'  inspect  and  study  long  enough  to  really 
perceive  the  strange,  wild  current  of  your  thoughts;  de- 
tect the  subtle  canker  in  3'our  feeling ;  comprehend  the 
dee]")  ferment  of  3a)ur  lusts,  enmities,  and  passions ;  hunt 
down  the  selfish  principle  which  instigates  and  misdirecta 
and  turns  off  your  whole  life  from  God,  setting  all  your 
aims  on  issues  that  reject  Him ;  ask,  in  a  word,  how  this 
respoctable  sin  appears,  when  viewed  inwardl}^ ;  how,  if 
iin restrained  by  pride,  and  the  conventional  rules  of  de- 
cency and  character,  it  would  appear  outwardly.  Fathom 
the  deep  hunger  of  your  soul,  and  listen  to  its  inwaid 


340  RESPECTABLE     SIN 

wail  of  bondage,  its  mournful,  un uttered  cr;y  of  want 
after  God.  Ask  it  of  the  enliglitening  Spirit  of  God, 
that  lie  will  open  to  your  view  yourself,  and  make  you  t»! 
know  all  that  is  inmost,  deepest,  most  hidden  in  the  habit' 
ually  veiled  deformity  of  your  sin.  Make  it  your  prayei 
even  to  God — Search  me,  0  God,  and  try  me! 

You  have  a  motive  also  in  making  this  inquest,  that  is 
even  more  pressing  than  m^my  of  you  will  suspect.  For 
no  matter  how  respectable  your  sin  is,  you  never  can  tell 
where  it  will  carry  you — how  long  it  will  be  respectable, 
or  where  it  will  end.  Enougn  to  know  that  it  is  sin,  and 
that  the  principle  of  all  sin  is  one  and  the  same.  In  its 
very  germ  you  have,  potentially,  whatever  is  abhorrent, 
abominable,  disgusting;  and  when  the  fruit  is  ripe,  no 
man  can  guess  into  what  shape  of  debasement  and  moral 
infamy,  or  public  crime,  it  may  finally  bring  him.  If  he 
hears  of  a  murder,  like  that  of  Webster,  for  example,  he 
may  be  very  confident  that,  in  his  particular  and  particu- 
larly virtuous  case  of  unreligious  living,  there  is  no  liabil- 
ity to  any  such  result.  And  perhaps  there  is  not.  Per- 
haps the  danger  is  different.  Avoiding  what  is  bloody, 
he  may  fall  into  what  is  false  or  low — some  damning  dis- 
honesty or  fraud,  some  violation  of  trust,  some  falsification 
of  accounts,  some  debauchery  of  lust  or  appetite,  some 
brutality  which  makes  his  very  name  and  person  a  dis- 
gust. S'n  works  by  no  set  methods.  It  has  a  way  of 
ruin  for  every  man,  that  is  original  and  proper  only  te- 
ll hoself.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  as  long  as  you  are  in  it 
and  under  its  power,  you  can  never  tell  what  you  are  ic 
danger  of.  This  one  thing  you  may  have  as  a  truth  eter 
iiaUy  fixed,  that  respectable  sin  is,  in  principle,  the  motUe/ 


KESPECTABLE     SIN.  341 

of  all  basest  crime.  Follow  it  on  to  the  bitter  end,  anc 
tberc  is  ignominy  eternal.  There  is  a  law  of  retributior 
that  keeps  it  company,  and  is  never  parted  from  it ;  bj 
which  law  the  end  is  being  shaped  and  the  hideous  result 
jirepared.  If  the  delicate,  pretentious,  always  3orrcci 
sinner  keeps  to  his  decency  here,  the  proper  end  wilJ 
show  itself  hereafter,  and  then  it  will  be  seen  how  dark, 
after  all,  how  deep  in  criminality,  how  bronzed  in  guilty 
thought,  is  every  soul  becoming  under  even  the  fairest 
shows  of  virtue,  coupled  with  neglect  of  God,  and  separa 
ted  from  his  personal  love. 

Advancing  now  a  stage,  observe  again  that  it  is  on  just 
this  view  of  the  world  and  of  human  character  under  sin. 
fchat  the  whole  superstructure  of  Christianity  is  based. 
Christ  comes  forth  to  the  world  as  a  lost  world.  Ho 
makes  no  distinction  of  respectable  and  unrespectable  aa 
regards  the  common  want  of  salvation.  Nay,  it  is  plair. 
from  his  searching  rebukes  laid  on  the  heads  of  the  priests, 
the  rulers,  and  others  in  high  life,  that  he  is  sometimej- 
moved  with  greatest  abhorrence  by  the  sin  of  those  who 
are  most  respectable  and  even  sanctimonious.  Hence  the 
solemn  universality  of  his  terms  of  salvation.  Hence  the 
declared  impossibility  of  eternal  life  to  any,  save  by  the 
same  gi-eat  radical  change  of  character ;  a  fact  which  he 
testifies  directly  to  Nicodemus,  the  conscientious  inquire;: 
after  truth,  the  sober  and  just  senator,  one  of  the  very 
highest,  noblest  m,en  in  the  nation, — Except  a  mac  ])f. 
born  again,  he  can  not  see  the  kingdom  of  God.  He  asks 
not  how  you  appear,  but  whether  you  are  human.  Nay, 
if  you  come  to  him,  like  the  young  ruler,  clothed  in  ali 
eueh  comelv  'virtues  tliat  he  is  constrained  to  look  on  yoni 

29* 


842  RESPECTABLE    SIN. 

Ingenuous,  conscientious  cliaiacter  with  love,  be  will  tel^ 
you,  when  you  ask  him  what  you  are  to  do  to  have  eternal 
life,  that  you  must  forsake  all  and  come  and  follow  him. 
Decency,  correctness,  praise — all  these  are  but  the  guise 
of  your  sin,  which  guise  he  will  tell  you  must  be  forever 
abandoned  as  a  ground  of  confidence  before  God,  and  the 
Bin,  which  now  it  only  adorns  and  covers,  must  be  itself 
removed  and  forever  taken  away  by  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb. 

nave  I  now  in  my  audience  any  forlorn  one,  like  the 
woman  of  my  text,  any  youth,  or  older  person,  who  is 
consciously  sinking  into  the  toils  of  vice  and  beginning 
to  taste  its  bitter  humiliations ;  any  that  has  consciously 
lost  or  begun  to  lose  the  condition  of  respect  and  reputa- 
ble living ;  any  that  begins  to  scorn  himself,  or  seems  to 
be  sinking  under  the  pitiless  scorn  of  the  world's  judg- 
ments? To  such  an  one  I  rejoice  to  say,  in  the  name  of 
Jesus  Christ,  that  there  is  no  scorn  with  him.  lie  does 
not  measure  sin  by  our  conventional  and  often  false  rulea 
of  judgment.  The  basest  sin  he  was  even  wont  to  find, 
in  many  cases,  under  the  finest  covering  of  respect.  He 
will  judge  you  rightly,  not  harshly.  If  you  have  fallen, 
or  begun  to  fall,  he  wants  to  raise  you.  He  offers  you  hia 
free  sympathy  and  support,  and,  if  others  lay  their  look 
cf  contempt  upon  your  soul,  he  invites  you  kindly,  whib 
P'  rs  love  and  courage,  and  if  you  are  ready  to  receivt 
him,  waits  also  to  say — Thou  art  mine,  go,  son ;  gc^ 
daughter;  sin  no  morel 

Bi-ethren  professed  in  the  name  and  gospel  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  it   is  bim  I   follow^  and  not  any  want  of 


RESPECTABLE    3IN,  343 

charity  I  indulge,  when  I  remind  you  that  a  still  more 
mournful  application  of  this  subject  is  possibly  required 
What,  alasl  and  apart  from  all  severity  of  judgment,  iS 
the  profession  of  many  disciples  but  a  state  of  serious  and 
rep  table  sin  ?  They  are  virtuous  persons,  as  that  terra 
is  commonly  used,  good  always  on  the  negative  side  of 
prudence  and  caution.  They  have  no  vices.  They  bring 
no  scandal  or.  the  cause  of  Christ  by  their  walk.  Bat  to 
what  does  all  this  amount,  if  there  be  nothing  farther  and 
more  positive  to  go  with  it  ?  Does  the  mere  keeping  out 
of  vice  and  scandalous  misdoing,  does  the  exactest  possible 
life,  in  fact,  if  we  speak  only  of  its  correctness,  constitute 
a  living  and  true  piety?  AVhat  is  it,  even  at  the  best,  but 
a  reputable,  or  possibly  a  somewhat  eh ristian-looking  state 
of  sin?  The  Pharisees  and  other  religious  persons  of  the 
Saviour's  time  were  abundantly  and  even  sanctimoniously 
exact  persons.  And  yet  the  Saviour  discovered  in  them, 
if  we  can  judge  from  the  tone  of  his  rebukes,  the  worst 
and  most  incurable  type  of  moral  abandonment.  They 
had  so  little  sense  of  holiness,  and  so  little  sympathy  with 
it,  that  they  were  his  bitterest  enemies,  and  even  became 
his  betrayers  and  murderers.  He  saw  all  this  beforehand, 
wrapped  up  in  their  character; — their  washings,  sacrifices, 
long  prayers,  and  scrupulous  tithings  did  not  conceal  it. 
you  certainly  have  no  such  ceremonies ;  you  do  not  be- 
lieve in  them,  but  you  have  covenants,  commimions,  bap* 
tisn-S,  family  altars.  Have  you,  in  company  with  ihese, 
and  answering  to  these,  the  new  man  of  love,  create*^ 
anew  in  Christ  Jesus  unto  good  works  ?  If  you  have  not, 
if  you  live  a  dumb,  unpositive  life,  under  the  power  of  !"rifi 
world,  selfish  still  as  before,  and  self-pursuing:  if  the  oKl 
Dian  is  uot  crucified,  and  the  new  man,  Cln'i.^l.j  i.-  ceriuiuly 


314  RESPECTABLE     SIS. 

not  being  formed  within  3^011.  then  your  profession  aigni 
ties  nothing  but  the  mere  respectability  of  your  sin 
What  is  your  supposed  piety  but  this,  if  it  have  no  spirit- 
ual and  inwardly  transforming  power?  Christ  is  redemp- 
tion only  as  he  actually  redeems  and  delivers  our  natuic 
from  sin.  If  he  is  not  the  law  and  spring  of  a  new  spirit 
of  life,  he  is  nothing.  Beware,  let  me  say  to  you  in 
Christ's  Uctme, — beware  of  the  leaven  of  the  Pharisee? 
and  Sadducees.  The  true  principle,  my  brethren,  is  this, 
and  if  this  will  yield  us  no  just  title  to  the  Christian 
name,  what  we  call  our  piety  is  in  honest  truth  nothing 
more  or  better  than  a  decent  shape  of  sin ; — For  as  many 
an  are  led  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  they  are  the  sons  of^God  — 
as  many,  no  more.     Are  we  so  led,  do  we  so  live? 

To  dismiss  this  subject  without  some  prospective  refer 
ence,  or  glance  of  forecast  on  the  future,  is  impossible, 
however  painful  and  appalling  the  contemplations  it  will 
raise.  When  you  go  to  stand  before  God,  my  friends,  it 
will  not  be  your  dress,  or  your  house,  or  your  titles,  or 
your  wealth,  no,  nor  even  your  virtues,  however  much 
cpmmended  here,  that  will  give  you  a  title  of  entrance 
among  the  glorified.  Respectable  sin  will  not  pass  then 
and  there  as  here.  The  honor,  the  nobility  of  it  is  now- 
gone  by.  The  degrees,  indeed,  of  sin  are  many,  but  the 
kind  is  one,  and  that  a  poor,  dejected,  emptied  form  of 
shame  and  sorrow.  How  appalling  such  a  thought  to  any 
one  who  is  capable  of  thought,  and  not  absolutely  brutal 
ized  by  his  guilt.  Furthermore,  as  sin  is  sin,  everywhere 
and  ia  all  forms,  the  respectable  and  the  unrespeclable, 
the  same  in  principle,  and  when  the  appearances  are  dif- 
ferent, the  sajne  often  in  criminality,  the  world  of  future 


RESPECT. \B].E     SIN.  346 

fetribauon  must,  of  course,  be  a  world  of  strange  com- 
panionships.  We  are  expressly  told,  and  it  seems  a 
matter  of  reason  also  to  suppose,  that  the  spirits  of  guilty 
men  will  not  be  assorted  there  by  their  tastes,  but  by  their 
character  and  demerits.  Death  is  the  limit  and  end  of  all 
mere  conventionalities.  The  fictitious  assortments  of  th( 
earthly  state  never  pass  that  limit.  Rank,  caste,  fashion, 
disgust,  fastidiousness,  delicacy  of  sin — these  are  able  tx< 
draw  their  social  lines  no  longer.  Proximity  now  is  held 
to  the  stern,  impartial  principle  of  inward  demerit; — That 
all  may  receive  according  to  the  deeds  done  in  the  body. 
This  is  the  level  of  adjustment,  and  there  appears  to  be 
no  other.  The  standing  of  the  high  priests,  the  Scribes, 
and  Pharisees,  and  the  forlorn  woman  of  my  text,  may  be 
inverted  now,  or  they  may  all  take  rank  together.  And 
so  also  many  of  you,  that  are  now  pleasing  3^ourselves  in 
the  dignity  of  your  virtues,  and  the  honors  of  your  social 
standing,  may  fall  there  into  group  and  gradation,  with 
such  as  now  you  even  look  away  from  with  profoundest 
distaste  or  revulsion.  The  subject  is  painful;  I  will  not 
pursue  it.  I  will  only  remind  you  that  where  the  lines 
of  justice  lead,  there  you  must  yourselves  follow;  and  if 
that  just  award  of  respectable  sin  yields  you  only  the 
promise  of  a  scale  of  companionships  from  which  your 
soul  recoils  with  disgust,  tliere  is  no  wisdom  for  3^ou  but 
to  be  as  disgustful  of  the  sin  as  of  the  companionships 
and  di'aw  yourself,  at  once,  to  Him  who  is  Purity,  anJ 
Peace,  and  Glojy,  and,  in  all,  Eternal  Life. 


XVI II. 

THE   POWER   OF   GOD   IN^   SELF-SACRfPICE. 
1  CoK.  i.  24.—"  Olrutthe  power  of  OocV 

The  cross  and  Christ  crucified  are  tlie  subject  here  in 
hand.  Accordingly,  when  Christ  is  called  the  power  of 
God,  we  are  to  understand  Christ  crucified;  and  then  the 
problem  is  to  conceive  how  Christ,  dying  in  the  weakness 
of  mortalit}^  and  exhibiting,  just  there,  if  we  take  him  aa 
the  incarnate  manifestation  of  God,  the  humblest  tokens 
of  passibility  and  frailty,  is  yet  and  there,  as  being  the 
crucified,  the  power  of  God. 

At  our  present  point  and  without  some  preparation  of 
thought,  we  can  haraly  state  intelligibly,  or  with  due  force 
of  assertion,  the  answer  to  such  a  question.  The  two  ele- 
ments appear  to  be  incompatible,  and  we  can  only  say  that 
the  power  spoken  of  is,  not  the  efficient,  or  pliysical,  but 
the  moral  power  of  God;  that  namely  of  his  feeling  and 
character.  But  as  this  v;ill  be  no  statement  suificiently 
clear  to  stand  as  the  ruling  proposition  of  a  discourse,  I 
will  risk  a  departure  from  our  custom  and,  instead  of  draw- 
ing my  subject  formally  from  my  text,  I  will  begin  ai  a 
point  external  and  draw,  by  stages,  toward  it ;  paying  it, 
as  I  conceive,  the  greater  honor,  that  I  suppose  it  to  be  so 
rich  and  deep  in  its  meaning,  as  to  require  and  to  reward 
the  labor  of  a  discourse,  if  simply  we  may  apprehend  th? 
lesson  it  teachea. 


THE    rOWEK    OF    GOD.  347 

Christy  then^  the  criici/ied,  and  so  the  power  of  God—ihu 
t!s  our  goal,  let  us  see  if  we  can  reach  it. 

We  tako  our  point  of  departure  at  the  question  of  passi- 
'oility  in  God — is  He  a  being  passible,  or  impassible? 

Tt  would  seem  lo  follow  from  the  infinitude  of  his  erc« 
iitively  efficient  power,  and  the  immensity  of  his  nature^ 
that  he  is  and  must  be  impassible.  There  is,  in  fact,  no 
power  that  is  not  in  his  hands.  There  are  cases,  it  is  true, 
where  superiority  in  volume  and  phj^sical  farce  rather 
increases  than  diminishes  passibility.  Thus  it  is  that  man 
is  subject  to  so  great  annoyance  from  the  mere  gnat,  and 
the  creature  is  able  to  inflict  this  inevitable  suffering  upon 
him,  just  because  of  his  own  atomic  littleness.  But  there 
is  no  parallel  in  this  for  the  relation  of  God  to  his  crea- 
tures, or  of  theirs  to  Him  ;  because  they  continue  to  exist 
only  by  His  permission.  Besides,  He  is  spirit  only,  not  a 
being  that  can  be  struck,  or  thrust  upon,  or  any  way  vio- 
lated by  physical  assault.  What  we  call  force,  or  physical 
power  can  not  touch  him.  And  even  if  it  could,  he  is 
])robably  incapable  of  suffering  from  it,  as  truly  as  even 
space  itself  Like  space,  like  eternity,  he  is,  in  his  own 
nature,  as  spirit,  essentially  impassible- -impassible,  that 
is,  as  related  to  force. 

But  the  inquiry  is  not  ended  when  we  reach  this  point, 
it  is  only  begun.  After  all  there  must  be  some  kind  oi 
passibleness  in  God,  else  there  could  be  no  genuine  char- 
aciter  in  him.  If  he  could  not  be  pained  by  any  thing, 
could  not  suffer  any  kind  of  wound,  had  no  viol  able  sym- 
pathy, he  would  be  any  thing  but  a  perfect  character.  A 
cast  iroD  Deity  could  not  command  oui'  love  and  rov^-ronce. 


848  THE    POWER    OF    GOD 

The  beauty  of  God  is  that  he  lias  feeling  and  feels  appro- 
priately toward  everything  done;  that  he  feels  badness  as' 
badness,  and  goodness  as  goodness,  pained  by  one,  pleased 
by  the  other.  There  must  be  so  much,  or  such  kind  of 
passibility  in  him  that  ho  will  feel  toward  every  thing  as 
it  is,  and  will  be  diversely  affected  by  diverse  things,  ac- 
cording to  their  quality.  If  wickedness  and  wrong  stiirod 
nothing  in  him  different  from  what  is  stirred  by  a  praA'^er^ 
if  He  felt  no  disaffection  toward  a  thief  which  He  does  not 
feel  toward  a  martyr,  no  pleasure  in  a  martyr  faithful  unto 
death, which  He  does  not  in  his  persecutors,  He  would  be  a 
kind  of  no-character;  we  can  hardly  conceive  such  a  being. 

A  very  large  share  of  all  the  virtues  have,  in  fact,  an 
element  of  passivity,  or  passibility  in  them,  and  without 
that  element  they  could,  not  exist.  Indeed  the  greatness 
and  power  of  character,  culminates  in  the  right  proportion 
and  co-ordination  of  these  passive  elements.  And  just 
here  it  is,  we  shall  see,  that  even  God's  perfection  culmin 
ates.     He  is  great  as  being  great  in  feeling. 

"We  raise  a  distinction,  as  among  ourselves,  between 
what  we  call  the  active  and  the  passive  virtues.  Not  thai 
all  virtues  are  not  equally  active,  in  the  sense  of  being 
voluntary,  or  free,  but  that  in  some  of  them  we  communi- 
cate, and  in  some  of  them  receive  action.  K  I  impart  a 
cliarity,  that  is  my  active  virtue;  if  I  receive  an  insult 
without  revenging,  or  wishing  to  revenge  it,  that  is  my 
passive  virtue.  All  the  wrong  acts  done  us  and  also  ail 
the  good  are  occasions  of  some  appropriate,  proportionate 
and  really  great  feeling,  which  is  our  passive  virtue.  And 
without  this  passive  virtue  in  its  varieties,  we  should  be 
only  no-characters,  dry  logs  of  wood  instead  of  Christian 
men,     Or^  if  we  kept  or.  acting  still,  we  should  be  oiiIt 


IN    SELF-SACRIFICE  848 

active  machines,  equally  dry  as  wood,  and  onl}^  making 
more  of  noise;  for  what  better  is  the  active  giving  of  a 
chanty,  if  there  be  no  fellow-feeling,  or  pitying  passion 
with  it,  to  make  it  a  charity? 

Now  God  must  have  these  passive  virtues  as  truly  aa 
men.  They  are  the  necessary  soul  of  all  greatness  in  him. 
How  then  shall  we  C(mcei\>  him  to  have  them  and  to  have 
his  sublime  perfection  culminate  in  them,  when  he  is,  in 
fact,  impassible? 

This  brings  us  to  the  true  point  of  our  question.  We 
discover,  first,  that  God  is  and  must  be  physically  impas- 
sible. We  discover,  next,  that  he  ought  to  feel  appropri- 
ately to  all  kinds  of  action,  and  must  have,  in  order  to  hia 
real  greatness  in  character,  all  the  passive  virtues.  He 
must  in  one  view  be  impassible  and  in  some  other,  pas- 
sible, infinitely  passible.  And  how  is  this,  where  is  the 
solution  ? 

It  is  here;  that  God,  being  physically  impassible,  im- 
piissible  as  relates  to  violating  force,  is  yet  morally  passi- 
ble. That  is,  he  is  a  being  whose  very  perfection  it  is, 
that  he  feels  the  moral  significance  of  things,  receives  all 
actions  according  to  their  moral  import,  whether  as  done 
to  himself,  or  by  one  created  being  to  another.  In  this 
latter  sense,  he  feels  actions  intensely  according  to  the 
moral  delicacy  of  his  nature,  deeply  according  to  the 
depth  of  his  nature.  In  this  point  of  view,  he  is,  just  be- 
cause  he  is  perfect  ana  infinite,  infinitel}^  passible.  He  haa 
just  that  sense  of  things  which  infinite  holiness  must  have, 
loves  the  tears  of  repentance  in  his  child  just  as  infinite 
mercy  must,  turns  awa}'  from  all  wrong,  as  profoundly 
revolted  by  it,  as  his  infinite,  eternal   chastity  must  be 

30 


850  THE    POWER    OF    GO^J 

It  will  be  seen,  at  once,  that  God  can  receive  the  sense 
of  actions  morally,  in  this  manner,  when  they  can  not 
touoh  him  as  force  or  physically.  He  can  feel  ingratitude 
wh  ;n  he  can  not  feel  a  blow.  He  can  loathe  impurity 
wh  in  he  can  not  be  injured  by  any  assault.  He  can  be 
sor3  displeased  by  the  cruelty  of  man  to  his  fellow,  when 
he  could  not  suffer  the  cruelty  himself.  He  is  pleased  and 
gratified  by  acts  of  sacrifice  when  he  could  not  be  com- 
forted, or  enriched  by  the  ministries  of  benevolence.  All 
acts  aflect  him  just  according  to  their  quality.  A  ther« 
mometer  is  not  more  exactly  and  delicately  passive  to 
heat,  than  he  is  to  the  merit  and  demerit  of  all  actions. 
So,  as  regards  what  lies  in  character  and  pertains  in  that 
way  to  spirit,  he  is  the  most  intensely  passible  of  all  be- 
ings, and  has  it  for  his  merit  that  he  is. 

This,  accordingly,  is  the  representation  given  of  him  in 
the  scriptures,  or,  as  it  will  more  assist  my  subject  to  say, 
In  the  Old  Testament  scriptures.  Thus  he  is  blessed,  or 
said  to  be,  in  all  the  varieties  of  agreeable  affection,  ac- 
cording to  the  merit  and  beauty  of  whatever  is  done  that 
is  right.  He  smelled  a  sweet  savor,  we  are  told,  in  Noah's 
sacrifice.  He  has  pleasure  in  them  that  hope  in  his  mercy. 
He  is  affected  with  joy  over  his  people,  as  a  prophet  repre- 
sents, even  to  singing,  in  the  day  of  their  restored  peace. 
Ho  is  tender  in  his  feeling  to  the  obedient,  pitying  them 
Uiat  fear  him  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children.  His  very 
love  is  parti}-  passive ;  that  is,  it  is  a  being  affected  witb 
complacency  by  those  who  are  in  the  truth,  and  a  being 
affected  with  compassion  by  the  bitter  and  hard  lot  of 
those  under  sin.  On  the  other  hand,  by  how  many  un 
pleasant  varieties,  or  pain&  of  feeling  does  he  ])rofess  Ui 
suffer,  in  his  relation  to  scenes  of  human  wrong,  ingrati- 


IN    SELF-SACRIFICE.  85\ 

tude  and  disgusting  baseness.  The  sigliing  of  the  prisoner 
comes  before  him,  to  command  his  sympathy.  He  calla 
after  liis  people,  as  a  woman  forsaken  and  grieved  in  spirit. 
Tie  testifies,— I  am  pressed  under  j^ou  as  a  cart  is  pressed 
that  is  full  of  sheaves.  His  repertings  are  kindled  together 
in  view  of  the  sins  of  his  people.  In  all  the  afflictions  of 
his  people  he  is  afflicted  himself.  And,  in  the  same  man- 
ner, he  is  said  to  be  exercised  by  all  manner  of  disagree- 
able and  unpleasant  sentiments  in  relation  to  all  manner 
of  evil  doings;  displeased,  sore  displeased,  wroth,  angry, 
loathing,  abhorring,  despising,  hating,  weary,  filled  with 
I'bomination,  wounded,  hurt,  grieved,  and  even  protests, 
like  one  sorrowing,  that  he  could  do  nothing  more  for  his 
vineyard  that  he  has  not  done  in  it.  There  is,  in  short,  no 
end  to  the  variety  of  unhappy,  or  disagreeable  sentimenta 
that  must  be  excited  in  Grod's  breast  of  infinite  purity,  by 
the  various  complexities  of  guilt,  wrong,  shame  and  loath- 
someness that  are  blended  in  the  societies  and  scenes  of 
our  fallen  world.  If  God  could  look  on  these  things  with- 
out disgust  and  abhorrence,  he  would  not  be  God.  He 
would  want  all  that  is  most  amiable,  freshest,  most  deli- 
cate, purest  in  love,  every  thing  that  most  commends  him 
to  our  reverence. 

But  these  movings  of  disgust  and  abhorrence,  all  tliese 
Siatiments  that  put  him  in  a  just  relation  with  evil,  are 
paij)ful.  Simpl}^  to  say  that  one  is  displeased  is  to  saj 
tliat  he  is  disagreeabl}  affected  ;  or  merely  to  say  that  one 
dislikes  a  character  is  to  allege  that  he  is  unpleasantly 
affected  by  it.  What  then  shall  we  think  of  God,  when 
all  tliese  varieties  of  displeasure  and  dislike  must  as  cer 
tainly  do  living  experiences  in  him,  as  he  is  a  holy  and  s 


352  THE    POWER    OF     GOD 

living  God?  So  far  he  is  a  being  subject  to  pain,  h\ 
reason  of  bis  very  perfections.  Nay,  bis  pains  do  tb(;m 
selves  enter  into  and  make  up  a  consubstantial  part  ol 
bis  perfections. 

And  what  is  tbis,  some  will  ask,  but  to  assume  the  u  i- 
liappiness,  or,  at  least,  tbe  diminished  happiness,  of  (jod 
Is  then  God  unhappy  ?  Is  be  less  than  infinitely  blessed  / 
Pressed  by  this  difficulty,  it  has  been  the  manner  of  many 
teachers  to  fall  back  on  tbe  physical  impassibility  of  God, 
imagining  that  there,  at  that  fixed  point,  the  true  solution 
must  begin.  God,  they  say,  is  impassible.  We  are  there- 
fore to  understand  that,  in  all  these  scripture  expressions, 
these  abhorrings,  loathings,  hatings,  displeasures,  angers, 
wearinesses,  indignations,  and  the  like,  the  bible  is  only 
speaking  of  God  after  the  manner  of  men.  Yes,  but, 
supposing  it  to  thus  speak,  what  does  it  mean?  .  Does  it 
mean  nothing?  When  it  declares  that  God  abominater^ 
sin,  does  it  mean  that  he  has  no  feeling  at  all  in  respect  to 
it  ?  Does  it  mean  that  he  has  a  pleasant  or  pleased  feeling? 
Neither;  we  mock  the  dignity  of  scripture,  nay  we  mvock 
the  beauty  itself  of  God,  when  we  turn  away,  in  this  man- 
ner,  all  credit  of  right  feeling  and  true  rationality  in  Him 
No,  this  is  what  we  mean ;  we  mean,  if  we  understand 
ourselves,  that  the  figures  in  question,  are  transferred 
from  human  uses  and  applied  over  to  God;  and  that 
when  so  applied,  they  express  something  true  coricern- 
ing  God;  viz,,  the  great  fact  that  God  has  the  same 
kind  of  displeased,  disaifected,  abhorrent  and  revolted 
feeling  toward  sin,  as  the  purest  and  holiest  man  has,  only 
it  is  God's  feeling,  in  God's  measures,  and  according  to 
God's  purity;  that  his  disgust  is  deep  as  the  sea.  that  hii 


IN    SELF-SACRIFICE.  853 

indignation  is  a  storm  vast  as  the  world,  that  his  whole 
infinitude  is  moved  with  dislike,  distaste,  disgust,  offended 
puritv,  abhorrence  and  revolted  love.  It  would  even  bf: 
a  discredit  to  God  to  suppose  any  thing  less. 

And  so  we  come  back  on  the  difficulty,  a  hundred  fold 
increased,  and  we  ask  again,  how  shall  we  save  the  infi- 
nite blessedness  of  God?  By  just  dropping  out  our  cal- 
culations of  arithmetic,  I  answer,  and  looking  at  facts.  Il 
seems  to  be  good  arithmetic  and  logically  inevitable  that, 
if  any  subtraction  is  made  from  God's  infinite  happiness, 
he  can  not  be  infinitely  happy.  No,  it  is  not  inevitable. 
On  the  contrary,  he  may  even  be  the  more  blessed  be- 
cause of  the  subtraction,  for  to  see  that  he  feels  rightly  to- 
ward evil,  despite  of  the  pain  suffered  from  it,  to  be  con- 
scious of  long  suffering  and  patience  toward  it,  to  know 
that  he  is  pouring  and  ever  has  been  the  fullness  of  his 
love  upon  it,  to  be  studying  now,  in  conscious  sacrifice, 
a  saving  mercy  ; — out  of  this  springs  up  a  joy  deeper  and 
more  sovereign  than  the  pain,  and  by  a  fixed  law  of  holy 
compensation,  the  sea  of  his  blessedness  is  kept  continually 
full.  All  moral  natures  exist  under  this  law  of  compen- 
sation ;  so  that  every  being  is  made  more  blessed  in  all  the 
passive  virtues.  To  receive  evil  rightly  is  to  master  it,  trj 
be  rightly  pained  by  it  is  to  be  kept  in  sovereign  joy.  To 
suffer  well  is  bliss  and  victory. 

Probably  no  one  ever  thought  of  compassion  as  being 
anj  thing  less  than  a  joy,  a  holy  bliss  of  feeling.  And 
yet  it  is  co-passion.  It  suffers  with  its  objects,  takes  their 
burdens,  struggles  with  their  sorrows — all  which  is  pain, 
a  loss  of  happmess.  Still  it  is  no  loss,  because  there  \& 
another  element  in  the  conscious  greatness  of  the  loss,  and 

30* 


{j54  the   power  of  god 

the  fr.an  is  even  raised  in  order  by  the  inward  exaltation 
he  feels.  So  in  respect  to  pity,  long  suffering,  patience 
with  evil,  and  meekness  under  wrong.  They  have  all  a 
sidi  of  loss,  and  yet  they  are  the  noblest  augmentations 
of  blessedness.  There  is  a  law  of  moral  compensaticn  in 
Item  all,  by  which  their  suffering  is  married  to  inevitable 

Nor  is  this  fact  of  compensation  wholly  confmed  lo  ac- 
tions moral;  a  similar  return  keeps  companj^  with  loss  and 
is  expected  to  do  so  in  other  matters.  The  hearer  of  a 
tragedy,  for  example,  goes  to  be  afflicted,  to  have  his  soul 
harrowed  and  torn,  that  in  so  deep  excitement  he  ma}^  feel 
the  depth  of  his  nature,  and  be  exalted  in  the  powerful 
surging  of  its  waves!  He  suffers  a  great  subtraction,  but 
no  diminution. 

We  need  not  therefore  be  troubled  or  concerned  for 
God's  happiness,  because  he  feels  toward  evil,  and  with  all 
his  feeling,  exactly  as  he  should.  That,  if  only  we  can 
drop  the  stupid  computations  of  arithmetic  and  look  into 
the  living  order  of  mind,  or  spirit,  is  the  sublimity  even  of 
liis  blessedness,  as  it  is  the  necessary  grace  of  his  perfection. 

Thus  far  I  have  spoken  of  God's  passive  virtue,  princi- 
pally as  concerned  in  feeling  toward  what  is  moral  just 
according  to  its  quality;  in  being  affected  pleasantly,  or 
(iisagreeably  according  to  the  good  or  evil  of  what  lie 
looks  upon.  But  there  is  a  moral  passivity  in  all  perfect 
charaster  that  is  vastl}^  higher  than  this  and  reaches  far- 
ther; viz.,  a  passivit}^  of  mercy,  or  sacrifice.  In  this,  a 
good,  or  perfect  being  not  onl}^  feels  toward  good,  or  evil, 
according  to  what  it  is,  but  willingly  endures  evil,  or  subnuta 
to  its  bad  quality  and  action  to  make  it  what  it  is  not;  tc 


IN    SELF   SACRIFICE.  35S 

recover  and  lieal  it.  No  extraordinary  purity  is  necessan 
to  make  any  one  sensible  of  disaffection,  or  disgnst,  oi 
pain,  in  the  contemplation  of  what  is  vile  and  wicked;  but 
to  yubmit  one's  ease  and  even  one's  personal  comfort  and 
pleasure  to  the  endurance  of  wickedness,  in  order  to-ro' 
cover  and  subdue  it,  requires  what  is  far  more  difficult.  I 
can  be  disgusted  easily  enough,  by  the  ingratitude,  offended 
by  th',!  treachery,  wounded  by  the  wrongs  of  an  enemy, 
but  to  bear  that  enemy  and  put  myself  in  the  way  of  re- 
ceiving more  injury,  in  order  to  regain  his  friendship  and 
r'estore  him  to  a  right  feeling,  is  quite  another  matter.  I 
am  never  perfect  in  my  relation  to  him  till  I  can.  All 
perfect  virtue  will  do  this,  and  none  is  perfect  but  this, 
whether  in  man,  or  in  angel,  or  in  God. 

Just  here  then,  we  begin  to  open  upon  the  true  mean- 
ing of  my  text — Christ  the  power  of  God.  There  is  no 
so  great  power  even  among  men,  as  this  of  which  I  now 
speak.  It  conquers  evil  by  enduring  evil.  It  takes  the 
rage  of  its  enemy  and  lets  him  break  his  malignity  across 
the  enduring  meekness  of  its  violated  love.  Just  here  it 
is  that  evil  becomes  insupportable  to  itself.  It  can  argue 
against  every  thing  but  suffermg  patience;  this  disarms  it. 
Looking  in  the  face  of  suffering  patience  it  sinks  exhausted. 
All  its  fire  is  spent. 

In  this  view  it  is  that  Christ  crucified  is  the  power  of 
God.  It  is  because  he  showti  God  in  self-sacrifice,  because  he 
brings  out  and  makes  historical  in  the  world  God's  passive 
virtue,  which  is,  in  fact,  the  culminating  head  of  power  in 
his  character.  By  this  it  is  that  he  opens  our  human  feel- 
ing, bad  and  blind  as  it  is,  pouring  himself  into  its  deep- 
est recesses  and  bathing  it  with  his  cleansing,  new-creating 
influence.     There  is  even  a  kind  of  efficiency  in  it  and 


856  THE    POWER    OF    GOD 

that  the  highest,  viz.,  moral  efficiency;  for  it  is  tioiu] 
power,  not  physical,  not  force.  It  is  that  kind  of  powei 
which  feeling  has  to  impregnate  feeling;  that  which  one 
person  has  in  good,  to  melt  himself  into  and  assimilata 
another  in  evil.  Hence  it  is  that  so  much  is  said  of  Christ 
as  a  new-discovered  power — tlie  power  of  God  unto  salva- 
tion ;  the  Son  of  God  with  power ;  the  power  of  Christ ; 
Christ  the  power  of  God  and  the  wisdom  of  God.  The 
power  spoken  of  here  is  conceived  to  be  such  that  Christ 
is  really  our  new  creator.  We  are  his  workmanship  ere- 
ated  unto  good  works;  new  creatures  therefore  in  him, 
transformed  radically  by  our  faith  in  him,  passed  from 
death  unto  life,  born  of  God,  renewed  in  the  spirit  of  our 
mind,  created  after  God  in  righteousness  and  true  holiness. 
All  the  figures  of  cleansing,  sprinkling,  washing,  healing, 
purging,  terminate  in  the  same  thing,  the  new  creating 
efficacy  of  Christ,  the  power  of  God.  It  is  the  power  of 
character,  feeling,  a  right  passivity,  a  culminating  grace 
of  sacrifice  in  God. 

But  how  does  it  appear  that  any  so  great  efficacy  is  ad- 
ded to  the  known  character  of  God,  by  the  life  and  death 
of  Christ?  Was  not  every  thing  shown  us  in  his  death 
explicitly  revealed,  or,  in  language,  formally  ascribed  to 
God,  by  the  writers  of  the  Old  Testament?  God,  I  have 
already  shown,  was  certainly  represented  there  as  being 
duly  affected  by  all  evil;  that  is,  he  was  shown  to  be  af- 
fected according  to  its  true  nature;  displeased,  abhorrent, 
hui  'j  afflicted,  offended  in  purity,  burdened  with  grief  and 
compassion.  But  to  have  these  things  said,  or  ascribed 
formally  to  God,  is  one  thing,  and  a  very  different  to  have 
them  lived  and  acted  historically  in  the  world.  Perfec- 
tions that  are  set  before  us  in  mere  epithets  have  littk 


IN    SELF-SACKIFICE.  357 

Bignifi  ',ance,  no  significance  but  that  which  we  give  them 
bj  thinking  them  out.  But  perfections  bved,  embodied 
physically,  and  acted  before  the  senses,  under  social  condi 
tions,  have  quite  another  grade  of  meaning.  How  much 
tl^en  does  it  signif}"-  when  God  comes  out  from  nature,  ov* 
of  all  abstractions  and  abstractive  epithets,  to  be  acted 
ptiraonally  in  just  those  glorious  and  divine  passivities  thai 
we  have  least  discerned  in  him  and  scarcely  dare  impute 
to  him.  By  what  other  method  can  he  meet  us  then,  so 
entirely  new  and  superior  to  all  past  revelations,  as  to  come 
into  our  world-history  in  the  human  form;  that  organ  most 
eloquent  in  its  passivity,  because  it  is,  at  once,  most  ex- 
pressive and  closest  to  our  feeling. 

And  if  this  1.  e  true  respecting  God's  mere  passivities  of 
sensibility  to  right  and  wrong,  how  much  truer  is  it,  when 
we  speak  of  uim  in  sacrifice.  No  such  impression,  or  con- 
ception of  God  was  ever  drawn  out,  as  a  truth  positive, 
from  any  of  the  epithets  we  have  cited.  And  what  we 
call  nature  gives  it  no  complexion  of  evidence.  Nature 
represents  inexorable  force,  a  God  omnipotent,  self-cen- 
tered, majestic,  infinite  and,  as  almost  any  one  will  judge, 
impassible.  Such  are  the  impressions  it  gives  and  it  en- 
courages no  other.  We  could  almost  as  soon  look  for 
sacrifice  in  a  steam-engine  as  in  nature.  The  only  hint  of 
possible  relaxation  we  get  from  it  is  that  which  w^e  bor- 
row from  the  delay  of  punishment ;  for  this  one  thing  is 
oloar,  that  justice  here  is  not  done,  and  therefore  we 
may  guess  that  other  ideas  enter  into  God's  plarj?.  So 
strongly  opposite,  therefore,  is  nature  to  any  concep 
tion  of  flexibility  in  God,  that  we  are  continually  put 
away  from  Christianity  by  its  suggestions.  So  close]_y 
holden  are  we  by  its  power,  that  God,  as  in  sacrifice,  aitpear? 


358  THE    POWER    OF    GO!) 

to  be  quite  inconceivable  to  many  of  us,  evxiv.  thougli.  w( 
look  on  the  passion  of  the  Lord  Jesus  itself. 

To  know  him  thus,  we  therefore  need  the  more.  If  the 
Old  ^JVstamcnt  gives  us  only  verbal  epithets  concerning 
God,  and  natui'e  sets  us  off  from  the  conception  of  any 
ical  passi\-ity  in  these,  how  necessary,  original,  powerful 
is  the  God  of  sacrifice,  he  that  endures  evil  and  takes  it  aa 
a  burden  to  bear,  when  we  see  him  struggling  under  the 
load.  And  if  still  we  can  not  believe,  if  we  reduce  our 
God  in  speculation  still  to  a  dry,  unmoving,  negative  pei-- 
fection,  which  escapes  suffering  by  feeling  nothing  as  it  is, 
only  the  more  wonderful  is  the  power  that  can  be  a  powei 
so  gTeat  upon  us,  when  obstructed  by  such  anbelief.  Stil! 
the  fact  is  fact — the  Christ  has  lived,  his  great  and 
mighty  passion  has  entered  into  the  woi-ld,  and  we  do  get 
impressions  from  it,  even  when  we  are  shutting  its  most 
central  truth  away.  Somewhere  still  there  is,  (how  often 
do  we  say  it)  a  wondrous  power  hid  in  the  cross  I  It  pene- 
trates our  deepest  natui'e ;  and  when  our  notional  wisdoms 
are,  at  some  time,  left  behind,  when  we  are  merely  holding 
the  historic  fact  in  practical  trust  unexplained,  nothing 
meets  our  feeling  so  well  as  to  call  it  the  great  mystery  of 
godliness.  We  do  it  because  we  feel  a  somewhat  in  it 
more  than  we  can  reason  out  of  it ;  because  it  penetrates 
and  works  in  our  deepest  nature,  with  a  wondrous  incom* 
urehensible  efticacy. 

But  in  all  this  we  are  supposing  that  Christ  suffered  aLd 
that  he  is  indeed  the  incarnate  Word  of  God's  eternity — 
God  manifest  in  the  flesh.  And  the  suffering  is,  by  the 
supposition,  physical — a  suffering  under  force.  If  thee 
God  is  in  his  very  nature  physically  impassible,  as  we  hov^ 


IN    SELF-SACRIFICE.  S5£ 

said,  hoAv  doe?  it  appear  that  he  is  any  way  expressed  in 
the  passion  of  Christ,  liow  docs  the  passion  present  him  as 
in  sacrifice?  Ah,  that  is  a  difficulty!  I  confess,  in  all 
liumility,  that  I  can  not  reason  it.  I  can  only  so  for  an- 
swer as  to  make  out  a  case  for  faith,  unobstructed  by  the 
veto  of  reason. 

And,  first  of  all,  it  is  not  asserted,  when  we  assert  the 
physical  impassibility  of  God,  that  he  can  not  suffer  b_y 
consent,  or  self-subjection,  but  only  that  he  can  not  be  sub 
jected  involuntarily.  We  know  nothing  of  the  liberty  pos- 
sessed by  the  divine  nature,  to  exist  under  assumed  con- 
ditions, whenever  there  are  any  sufficient  reasons  for  so 
doing.  To  deny  that  God  has  such  kind  of  liberty  in 
the  Word,  might  even  be  a  greater  infringement  of  his 
power,  than  to  maintain  his  natural  passibility. 

In  the  next  place,  we  can  clearly  enough  see  that  there 
is  no  difficulty  in  the  passion  of  Christ  which  does  not 
also  exist  in  the  incarnation  itself.  It  is  indeed  the  incar- 
nation, or  one  of  the  included  incidents.  And  the  incarna- 
tion is,  by  the  supposition,  a  fact  abnormal,  inconceivable, 
speculatively  impossible.  How  can  the  infinite  being, 
God,  exist  under  finite  conditions ;  how  can  the  All-Pres- 
ent be  localized ;  how  (for  that  is  only  another  form  of 
the  same  question)  can  the  impassible  suffer  ?  And  yet  it 
would  be  a  most  severe  assumption  to  sa}'-  that  God  can 
tot,  to  express  himself  and  forward  his  negotiation  witci 
qin,  subject  himself,  in  some  way  mysteriously  qualified, 
to  just  these  impossible  conditions. 

Be  this  all  as  it  may,  there  are  ways  of  knowing  and  per- 
ceiving that  are  shorter,  and,  in  many  things,  wiser  than 
the  processes  of  the  head.  In  this  passion  of  Jesus,  it  musi 
be  enough  that  I  look  on  the  travail  of  a  divine  feeling 


360  THE    POWEK    OF    GOE 

and  behold  the  spectacle  of  God  in  sacrifice.  This  I  set 
and  nothing  less.  He  is  visibly  not  a  man.  His  charactei 
is  not  of  this  world.  I  feel  a  divinity  in  hiin.  He  floods 
me  with  a  sense  of  God,  such  as  I  receive  not  from  all 
God's  works  and  worlds  beside.  And  when  I  stand  by 
bis  cross,  when  I  look  on  that  strong  passion  and  shudder 
with  the  shuddering  earth,  and  darken  with  the  darken- 
ing sun,  enough  that  I  can  say — My  Lord  and  my  God  I 
I  ask  no  sanction  of  the  head.  I  want  no  logical 
endorsement.  Enough  that  I  can  see  the  heart  of  God, 
and,  in  all  this  wondrous  passion,  know  him  as  enduring 
the  conti'adiction  of  sinners.  No  matter  if  I  can  not 
reason  the  mystery ;  no  matter  if  the  whole  transaction  is 
a  doing  of  the  impossible,  when  so  plainly  the  impossible 
is  done!  when  I  have  the  irresistible  verdict  in  me,  self- 
pronounced!  Why  should  I  debate  the  matter  in  my 
liead,  when  I  have  the  God  of  sacrifice  in  my  heart?  I 
will  give  up  my  sins.  He  that  endures  me  so,  subdues 
me,  and  I  yield.  0  thou  Lamb  of  God  that  takcst  away 
the  sin  of  the  world,  what  thou  bearest  in  thy  blessed 
hands  and  feet,  I  can  not  bear ;  take  it  all  away.  Hide 
me  in  the  depths  of  thy  suffering  love,  mold  me  to  the 
image  of  thy  divine  passion  ! 

Here  now,  my  friends,  and  at  this  point  I  close ;  here 
let  us  learn  to  conceive  more  fitly  the  greatness  of  God 
His  greatness  culminates  in  sacrifice.  He  is  great,  because 
there  is  a  moral  passivitj  so  great  in  his  perfections.  All 
which  the  cross  of  Jesus  signifies  was  central,  eternally,  in 
his  majestic  character.  Nothing  superlative  is  here  dis- 
played, nothing  is  done  which  adds  so  much  as  a  trace  tc 
God's  pei'sonal   glories.     All  that  is   done  is   siniply   tc 


IN    SELF-SACRIFICE.  861 

expiess,  or  produce  in  real  evidence,  what  his  glories  werd 
from  eternity.  All  that  is  discovered  to  us  in  the  passion 
was  in  him  from  eternity.  The  cross  ^as  the  crown 
of  his  perfection  before  the  worlds  were  made.  He  was 
each  a  being  as  could  feel  toward  evil  and  good  accord- 
ing to  what  they  are ,  such  a  being,  too,  as  could  suffer  an 
onemy,  endure  his  wrong  in  royal  magnanimity,  and  sub- 
due him  by  his  patience.  0,  if  he  were  only  wise,  om- 
nipotent, a  great  architect  piling  immensity  full  of  his 
works,  fixed  in  his  eternity,  strong  in  his  justice,  firm  in 
his  decrees,  that  were  doubtless  something;  even  that 
would  present  him  as  an  object  worthy  of  profoundest 
reverence ;  but  in  the  passion  of  Jesus  he  is  more.  There 
his  power  is  force ;  here  it  is  sacrifice.  Tliere  he  creates 
by  his  fiat ;  here  he  new-creates  by  the  revelation  of  sacri- 
fice. There  he  astonishes  the  eye ;  here  he  touches  and 
transforms  the  heart.  Is  it  wrong  to  say  that  here  is  the 
summit  of  his  greatness  ?  Were  he,  then,  the  mere  ideal 
that  figvires  in  our  new  literature,  some  great  no-person, 
some  vast  To  Pan  sleeping  back  of  the  stars;  some  clear 
fluid  of  impersonal  reason,  in  which  both  we  and  the  stars 
are  floating,  having  neither  will  nor  feeling;  a  form  of 
stolidity  made  infinite ;  would  he  be  a  greater  being,  more 
admirable,  warmer  to  our  love,  and  worthier  to  be  had  in 
reverence?  0,  these  great  passibilities !  this  sorrowing 
love !  this  enduring  patience  that  bears  the  sins  of  the 
world!  He  that  groans  in  the  agony,  he  that  thirsts  on 
the  cross,  this  is  the  real  and  true, — the  Lord  he  is  the 
God  1  the  Lord  he  is  the  God !  The  God  of  mere  ampli- 
tude will  do  to  amuse  the  fancy  of  the  ingenious ;  the 
&od  of  sacrifice  only  can  approve  himself  to  a  sinner. 
And  here  it  is  that  our  gospel  comes  to  be  so  great  a 

31 


862  THE    POWER    OF    GOD 

power.  It  is  not,  on  one  hand,  the  power  of  omnipotence, 
or  of  a  naked,  ictic  force,  falling  in  secretly  regenerative 
blows,  like  a  slung  shot  in  the  night.  Neither  is  it,  on  the 
other  hand,  any  mere  appeal  of  gratitude,  or  newly  im- 
j)ressed  obligation,  drawing  the  soul  to  God  by  the  cousia 
eration  of  what  he  has  done,  in  the  cross,  to  purchase  a 
Tree  remission.  Bonds  of  gratitude,  alas  I  have  never 
been  so  great  a  power  on  human  souls.  And  how  does  it 
appear  that  any  such  bond  has  been  even  admitted,  when 
as  yet  the  remission  itself  is  rejected  and  the  want  of  it 
unfelt?  No!  this  power,  this  wonderful  power!  is  God 
in  sacrifice.  It  is  measured  and  expressed  and  incor- 
porated in  the  historic  life  of  the  world  as  a  power  new- 
creative  in  the  passion  of  Jesus,  the  incarnate  Word  of 
God ;  for  it  is  here  that  God  pours  out  into  the  world's 
bosom  his  otherwise  transcendent  perfections,  and  opens, 
even  to  sight,  the  otherwise  inaccessible  glories  of  his  love, 
It  is  even  the  official  work,  therefore,  and  mission  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  to  be  Christ  in  men,  taking  -the  things  of 
Christ's  passion  and  showing  them  unto  men's  hearts; 
for  Christ,  himself  is,  in  his  sacrifice,  the  mighty  power  of 
God.  This  is  the  power  that  has  new-created  and  sent 
home,  as  trophies,  in  all  the  past  ages,  its  uncounted 
myriade  of  believing,  new-created,  glorified  souls;  the 
power  that  established,  propagates,  perpetuates,  a  king- 
dom; the  power  that  has  tamed  how  much  of  enmity, 
dissolved  how  many  times  the  rock  of  obstinacy,  cleansed, 
purified,  restored  to  heaven's  order,  comforted  in  heaven's 
peace  how.  many  guilty,  otherwise  despairing  souls.  Il 
pan  do  for  you,  O  sinner  of  mankind!  all  that  you  wan( 
done.  It  can  i-egenerate  your  habits,  settle  your  disor- 
ders, glorify  your  baseness,  and  assimilate  you  perfectlj- 


IK    SELy-SACRIPMCE.  36H 

to  God.  Tl/is  it  will  do  for  you.  Go  to  the  cross,  and 
aie»3t  ihvse  God  in  sacrifice.  Behold  liim,  as  Jesus,  bear- 
ing your  sin,  receiving  the  shafts  of  your  enmity  I  Eiu- 
i.racc  Uim,  believe  in  Ilim,  take  Him  to  your  inmost 
beart.  Do  this,  and  you  shall  feel  sin  die  within  you,  and 
a  glorious  quickening,  Christ  the  power  of  God,  Christ  iri 
you  the  hope  of  gloiy,  shall  be  consciousl}^  risen  up^n 
you,  as  the  morn  of  your  new  creation. 

And  you,  my  brethren  that  have  known  this  dawning  of 
the  Lord — ^what  a  certification  have  you,  in  this  sacrifice, 
of  God's  sympathy.  How  intensely  personal  is  he  to  you. 
Go  to  him  in  youi-  every  trouble.  Go  to  him  most  confi- 
dently in  all  the  troubles  of  your  inward  shame,  and  the 
struggles  even  ot  your  defeated  hope.  When  the  loads 
of  conscious 'sin  are  heaviest  on  you,  and  you  seem  even 
to  be  sinking  in  its  mires,  address  him  as  the  God  of  sacri- 
fice. Have  it  also  as  your  lesson,  that  you  yourself  will 
be  most  in  power,  when  readiest  in  the  endui'ing  of  evil : 
that  you  will  bear  fruit  and  be  strong,  not  by  your  fonie, 
not  by  your  address,  }iot  by  your  words,  but  only  when 
you  are  with  Christ  in  sacrifice.  Strange  that  any  one 
who  has  ever  once  felt  the  power  of  God  in  Christ,  should, 
for  so  much  as  a  moment,  miss  or  fall  out  of  this  gloriouy 
truth.  It  comes  of  that  delusion  of  our  selfishness,  which 
is,  in  fact,  a  second  nature  in  us, — the  seeing  only  weak 
ness  in  patience,  and  loss  in  sacrifice.  But  if  God'a 
own  might  and  blessing  are  in  it,  so  also  are  yours. 
Look  for  power,  look  for  the  fullness  of  joy  where  Christ 
hin'-sclf  reveals  it.  Take  his  cross,  that  same  which  he 
brought  forth  out  of  the  bosom  of  God's  eternal  perfec- 
tions, and  go  back  with  him  in  it,  to  be  glorified  with 
bim,  iu  tbe  hight  of  his  beatitude. 


111. 

DUTY    N'OT   MEASURED   BY   OUR   OWN   ABILITT. 

J.  V  KE  ix.  13. —  'But  he  said  unto  the7n,  Give  ye  them  to  eai. 

VV]IEN  ( Hirist  lays  it  thus  upon  his  disciples,  in  thai 
solitary  and  desert  place,  to  feed  five  thousand  men,  he 
can  not  be  ignorant  of  the  utter  impossibility  that  they 
should  do  it.  And  when  they  reply  that  they  have  only 
five  loaves  and  two  fishes,  though  the  answ^er  is  plainly 
sufficient,  he  is  nowise  diverted  from  his  course  by  it,  but 
presses  directly  on  in  the  new  order,  that  they  make  the 
people  sit  down  by  fifties  in  a  company,  and  be  ready  for 
the  proposed  repast.  Debating  in  themselves,  probably, 
what  can  be  the  use  of  such  a  proceeding,  when  really 
there  is  no  supply  of  food'  to  be  distributed,  they  still 
execute  his  order.  And  then  when  all  is  made  ready,  he 
calls  for  the  five  loaves  and  two  fishes,  and,  having  blessed 
them,  begins  to  break,  and  says  to  them — Distribute, 
Marvelous  loaves !  broken,  they  are  not  diminished !  dis- 
tributed, they  still  remain !  And  so  returning,  again  and 
again,  to  replenish  their  baskets,  they  continue  the  distri- 
biition,  till  the  hungry  multitude  are  all  satisfied  as  in  a 
full  supply.  In  this  manner  the  original  command — Give 
ve  them  to  eat — "s  executed  to  the  letter.  They  have 
laude  the  people  sit  down,  they  have  brought  the  loaves, 
they  have  distributed,  and  he  at  every  step  has  justified 
his  order,  by  making  their  scanty  stoek  as  good  as  a  fuU 
supply. 


DUTY     NOI     MEASURED,     ETC.  366 

This  narrative  suggests  and  illustrates  the  following 
important  principle — 

That  men  are  often^  and  proj^rly,  put  under  obligation  fc 
do  that  for  which  they  have,  in  themselves,  no  present  ability . 

This  principle  I  advance,  not  as  questioning  the  tnit-h 
that  ability,  being  necessary  to  an  act,  is  necessary  to  com- 
plete obligation  toward  the  same,  but  as  believing  and 
designing  to  show  that  God  has  made  provision,  in  very 
many  things,  for  the  coming  in  upon  the  subject  of  ability, 
as  he  goes  forward  to  execute  the  duties  incumbent  on 
him.  God  requires  no  man  to  do,  without  ability  to  do  ; 
but  he  does  not  limit  his  requirement  by  the  measures  of 
previous  or  inherently  contained  ability.  In  many,  oi 
even  in  a  majority  of  cases,  the  endowment  of  power  is 
to  come  after  the  obligation,  occurring  step  by  step,  as  the 
exigences  demand.  Of  what  benefit  is  it  that  the  subject 
have  a  complete  ability  in  himself,  provided  he  only  has 
it  where  and  when  it  is  wanted?  When,  therefore,  I 
maintain  that  men  are  often  required  to  do  that  for  which 
they  have  no  present  ability  in  themselves,  I  do  it  in  the 
conviction  that  God  has  made  provision,  in  many  ways, 
for  the  enlargement  of  our  means  and  powers  so  as  to 
meet  our  emergencies.  And  he  does  this,  we  shall  see,  on 
a  large  scale,  and  by  system, — does  it  in  the  natural  life, 
a?id  also  in  the  works  and  experiences  of  the  life  of  faith. 

Thus,  to  begin  at  the  very  lowest  point  of  the  subject, 
it  is  the  nature  of  human  strength  and  fortitude  bodily  to 
have  an  elastic  measure,  and  to  be  so  let  forth  or  extended 
A8  to  meet  the  exigences  that  arise.  Within  certain 
limits,  for  man  is  liniited  in  every  thing,  the  body  gets  thi 


$^6  DUTY    >'0T    MEASURED 

strength  it  wants,  in  the  exercise  for  which  it  is  wantevl 
The  bodj  is  not  Hke  mechanical  tools  and  engines,  which 
ri2ver  acquire  an}'-  degree  of  strength  bj  use  and  the  strain 
to  which  they  are  put.  but  rather  begin  to  fail  as  thej* 
begin  to  bensed;  but  it  gains  power  for  exertion  by  exer- 
don,  and  sustains  its  competency  in  the  same  way.  It  ia 
able  to  endure  and  conquer,  because  it  has  endured  and 
coiKpiered.  God,  therefore,  maj^  fitly  call  a  given  man  to 
a  course  of  life  that  requires  much  robustness  and  a  high 
power  of  physical  endurance,  on  the  ground  that  when  he 
is  fully  embarked  in  his  calling,  the  robustness  will  come, 
or  will  be  developed  in  it  and  by  means  of  it,  though  pre- 
viousl}^  it  seemed  not  to  exist.  Indeed  the  physical  imbe- 
cility of  some  men  will  be  the  great  crime  of  their  life, 
and  they  will  be  held  answerable  for  it,  on  the  simple 
ground  that  the}''  had  too  little  courage  and  were  too  self- 
indulgent  to  throw  themselves  on  any  such  undertaking, 
as  a  true  christian  manliness  required. 

There  is  yet  another  law  pertaining  to  bodily  capacity, 
which  is  more  remarkable,  viz.,  that  muscular  strength 
and  endurance  are  often  suddenl}^  created  or  supplied  by 
some  great  emergency  for  which  they  are  wanted.  What 
feats  of  giant  strength  have  been  performed  under  the 
stimulus  of  danger,  or  some  impulse  of  humanity  or  affec- 
tion. What  sufferings  have  men  supported  in  prisons,  in 
deserti,  on  the  ocean,  sustained  by  hope,  or  nerved  by 
despair.  When  the  occasion  is  passed,  and  the  man  look? 
ba  :k  upon  the  scene,  how  impossible  does  it  seem  tliat  hd 
ghould  ever  have  done  or  suffered  such  things !  It  i<i 
irideed  impossible  to  do  it  now.  But  then  it  was  possible, 
in  virtue  of  a  great  appointment  of  nature  and  pre  vi- 
dence,  by  which  the  very  occasions  to  be  met  shall  so 


BY    OUR    OWN    ABILITY.  367 

excite  tlic  nerves  of  action  as  to  give  us  powcv  to  nieel 
tliein.  They  do  it  suddenly  and  just  for  the  time.  In  an 
instant,  they  endue  us  with  what  appears  to  ourselves  ta 
be  preteniatural  strength ;  and  when  the  great  exigency 
ifi  over,  vanquished  by  the  very  powers  it  has  itself  ^np- 
[.lied  we  sit  down  to  rejoice  in  a  tremor  of  weakness. 

.So  also  it  is  the  nature  of  courage  to  increase  in  the 
niidsi  of  perils  and  because  of  them,  and  coarage  is  the 
strength  of  the  heart.  Often  does  the  coward  even  become 
a  hero  by  the  accident  of  condition.  How  a  man  is  able 
nnt  seldom  to  proceed  with  firmness  and  heroic  self-posses- 
sion, when  thrown  amid  difficult  and  perilous  exposures  or 
conflicts,  who  by  no  effort  of  courage  could  bring  himself 
to  engage  in  them,  is  well  understood.  Nor  is  it  any 
thing  strange  for  a  woman,  in  some  terrible  and  sudden 
crisis,  to  be  nerved  with  firmness  and  dauntless  self-pos- 
session,— then  even  to  faint  with  terror  when  the  crisis  is 
past ! 

Intellectual  force  too  has  the  same  elastic  quality,  and 
measures  itself  in  the  same  way,  by  the  exigences  we  are 
called  to  meet.  Task  it,  and,  for  that  very  reason,  it 
grows  efficient.  Plunoe  it  into  darkness,  and  it  makes  a 
sphere  of  light.  It  discovers  its  own  force,  by  the  exer- 
tion of  force,  measures  its  capacity  by  the  difficulties  it 
has  overcome,  its  appetite  for  labor  by  the  labor  it  has 
endured.  So  that  here  again,  as  in  respect  to  the  body,  a 
man  maj  have  it  laid  upon  him  to  be  forward  in  some 
greatest  call  of  duty,  when  as  yet  he  seems  to  have  nc 
capacity  for  it ;  on  the  ground  that  his  capacity  will  so  b( 
unfolded  as  to  meet  the  measures  of  his  undertaking, 
How  many  persons  who  thought  they  had  no  ability  t(. 
teach  a  class  of  youth  in  the  scriptures,  have  gotten  theii 


S68  DUTY    NOT    MEASURED 

ability  by  doing  it.  And  just  so  all  great  commaiidera, 
statesmen,  lawgivers,  scholars,  preachers,  have  found  the 
poweis  unfolded  in  their  calling  and  by  it,  v/hich  were 
necessary  for  it. 

Here  too  great  occasions  beget  great  powers,  and  pre- 
pai'e  the  man  to  astonishing,  almost  preternatural  acts  or 
mental  energy.  In  great  occasions,  when  a  principle,  or 
a  kingdom,  or  some  holy  cause  of  heaven  is  at  stake,  an 
inspiration  seizes  him,  that  fires  the  imagination,  swelLs 
the  high  emotions,  exalts  and  glorifies  the  will,  and  sends 
the  spirit  of  the  living  creatures  into  every  wheel  of  tht; 
mind  before  inert  and  lifeless.  Thus  electrified  and  pene- 
trated by  the  great  necessity,  it  becomes  ethereal,  rapid, 
cleai-,  a  fire  of  energy,  a  resistless  power.  What  reason- 
ings, what  bursts  of  eloquence,  what  living  words  of  llamc, 
does  it  send  forth  to  kindle  and  glow  in  the  world's  his- 
torv,  for  ge:uM'aiions  and  ages  to  come. 

The  same  also  is  true,  quite  as  remarkably,  of  what  wo 
sometimes  call  moral  power.  By  this  we  mean  the  powei 
of  a  life  and  a  character,  the  power  of  good  and  great 
purposes,  that  power  which  comes  at  length  to  reside  in  a 
man  distinguished  in  some  course  of  estimable  or  great 
conduct.  It  is  often  this  which  dignifies  the  great  senator, 
so  as  to  make  even  his  common  words,  words  of  grave 
\visdom,  or  perchance  of  high  eloquence.  It  is  this  which 
gives  a  power  so  mysterious  often  to  the  preacher  of 
Christ,  such  a  power  that  even  his  presence  in  any  place 
will  begin  to  disturb  the  conscience  of  many,  even  before 
they  have  heard  him.  No  other  power  of  man  compares 
with  this,  and  there  is  no  individual  who  may  net  be 
measurably  invested  with  it.  Integrity,  purity,  goodness 
Buccess  of  any  kind  in  the  humblest  persons,  or  the  lowest 


BY    OUR    OWN    ABILITY.  36& 

walks  of  daty,  begin  to  invest  them  finally  with  a  char- 
acter, and  create  a  certain  sense  of  momentum  in  them. 
Other  men  expect  them  to  get  on,  because  they  are  getting 
on,  and  bring  them  a  repute  that  sets  them  forward,  giv^ 
til  em  a  salute  that  means — success  I  This  kind  of  power 
is  neitlier  a  natural  gift,  nor  properly  an  acquisition,  but 
h  comes  in  upon  one  and  settles  on  him,  like  a  crown  of 
glory,  while  discharging  with  fidelity  his  duties  to  God 
and  man.  It  is  a  power  contributed  silently  by  others,  a 
throne  built  for  the  victor,  an  eminence  appointed  him  b_y 
the  world.  When  contemplated  in  this  light,  how  marked 
is  the  provision  of  God  for  letting  down  power  upon  a 
man,  who  will  act  his  part  well.  The  world  comet?  to  him, 
of  its  own  accord,  to  exalt  him  with  its  tributary  breath. 

And  here  again,  also,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  power  in 
question,  this  moral  power,  is  often  suddenly  enlarged  b}' 
the  very  occasions  that  call  for  it.  Not  seldom  is  it  a  fact 
that  the  very  difficulty  and  grandeur  of  a  design,  which 
some  heroic  soul  has  undertaken  to  execute,  exalts  him, 
at  once,  to  such  a  pre-eminence  of  moral  power,  that  man- 
kind are  exalted  with  him,  and  inspired  with  energy  and 
confidence  by  the  contemplation  of  his  magnificent  spint. 
How  often  indeed  is  a  man  able  to  carry  a  project,  simply 
bec^ause  he  has  made  it  so  grand  a  project !  He  strikes,  in- 
spires, calls  to  his  aid,  by  virtue  of  his  great  idea,  his  faith, 
his  sublime  confidence  in  truth,  or  justice,  or  duty. 

It  is  onlj  a  part,  or  rather  a  generalization  of  the  truths 
already  illustrated,  that  the  great  and  successful  men  of 
history  are  commonly  made  b}''  the  great  occasions  they 
fill.  They  are  the  men  who  had  faith  to  meet  such  occa- 
Bions,  and  therefore  the  occasions  marked  them,  called 
*-hera  to  come  and  be  what  the  successes  ef  their  I'aitt 


S70  DUTY    NOT    MEASURED 

woukl  mixke  them  The  boy  is  but  a  slie})herd,  but  lie 
hears  from  his  panic-stricken  countrymen  of  tljc  giant 
champion  of  their  enemies.  A  fire  siezes  him,  and  he 
goes  dov/n,  with  nothing  but  his  sling  and  his  heart  ol 
faith,  to  lay  that  champion  in  the  dust.  Next  he  is  a  gi-eat 
military  leader;  next  the  king  of  his  country.  As  with 
David,  so  with  Nehemiah, — as  with  him;  so  with  Paul,  — as 
with  him,  so  with  Luther.  A  Socrates,  a  Tully,  a  Crom- 
well, a  Washington, — all  the  great  master  spirits,  the 
founders  and  law-givers  of  empires,  and  defenders  of  the 
rights  of  man,  are  made  by  the  same  law.  These  did  not 
shrink  despairingly  within  the  compass  of  their  poor  abil- 
ities, but  in  their  heart  of  faith,  they  embraced  each  one 
his  cause,  and  went  forth,  under  the  inspiring  force  of 
their  call,  to  apj)rehend  that  for  which  they  were  appre- 
hended. They  had  all  their  enemies  and  their  obstacles, 
such  enemies  and  obstacles  as  they  had  in  themselves  no 
force  to  conquer.  But  their  confidence  in  their  cause  gave 
^hem  a  foi'ce.  For,  as  it  is  said  that  ferocious  animals  ar*:; 
disarmed  by  the  eye  of  man,  and  will  dare  no  violence^ 
if  he  but  steadily  look  at  them,  so  it  is  when  right  looks 
upon  wrong.  Resist  the  devil,  and  he  will  flee  from  you ; 
offer  him  a  bold  front,  and  he  runs  away.  He  goes,  it 
may  be,  uttering  threats  of  rage,  but  yet  he  goes !  So  it 
is  that  all  the  great,  efficient  men  of  the  w-orld  are  made. 
I'hey  are  not  strDng,  but  out  of  weakness  they  arc  made 
strong. 

1  have  dwelt  thus  at  length  on  these  illustrations  that 
are  offered  us  in  the  natural  life,  simply  because,  they  will, 
for  that  reason,  be  most  convincing  to  many.  You  see,  as 
a  feet,  that  the  ability  we  have  to  suffer  and  do  and  con 


BY    OUR    OWN     ABILITY  371 

quer,  ia  never  an  abilit}*  previously  existing  in  ourseivea 
[fc  is  an  ability  tliat  accrues,  or  comes  upon  us,  in  the  exi- 
gences and  occasions  of  life.  How  childish  then  is  it  ic 
religion,  to  imagine  that  we  arc  called  to  do  nothing,  save 
what  we  have  ability  to  do  beforehand  ;  ability  in  ourselves 
to  do.  We  have  in  fact  no  such  ability  at  all — no  ability 
that  is.inhereiit,  as  respects  any  thing  laid  upon  us  to  d^; 
our  aljilily  is  what  we  can  have,  and  then  our  duty  iy 
graduated  by  what  we  can  have.  Indeed  we  may  affirm 
it  as  a  truth  ludversal,  respecting  vital  natures  of  every 
kind,  v/hether  vegetable,  animal,  intellectual,  or  spiritual, 
that  they  have  no  rigidly  inherent  ability  to  do  any  thing 
whatever.  No  plant  or  tree  can  grow  by  any  inherent 
ability,  apart  from  sun,  soil,  moisture,  heat,  and  the  like. 
No  animal  can  do  as  simple  a  thing  as  breathing  by  inhe- 
rent ability, — he  must  have  air;  he  can  walk,  or  rtm,  or 
climb,  or  fly,  only  by  conditions  external  that  must  be 
supplied.  So  also  the  mind  or  intelligence  can  remember 
only  as  fit  associations  are  supplied  to  assist  the  recall  of 
things  gone  by ;  or  discover  laws,  only  when  stimulated 
by  the  suggestions  of  appropi-iate  ficts ;  or  maintain  a 
power  of  high  command,  only  when  there  are  great  occa- 
sions and  perils  to  be  mastered.  In  just  the  same  way, 
passing  to  what  is  spiritual,  God  can  not  be  loved,  save  as 
he  is  offered  to  lo-'-e,  in  qualities  that  will  awaken  and  sup- 
port love.  Ana,  for  the  same  reason,  no  sinner  of  man- 
kind can  regenerate  himself  by  any  inherent  ability,  apart 
from  conditions  powerfully  presenting  God,  and  pouring 
hia  radiance  into  the  soul ;  for  the  regenerate  state  is  only 
the  new  revelation  of  God  williin,  whence  before  he  waa 
excluded;  so  that  now  the  life  proceeds  froij?  Uim,  a.s  \ti 
actuating  impulse  and  law. 


872  DUTY    NOT    MEASURED 

This  wliole  question  of  ability  in  man;  of  natural  ablA 
ity  as  opposed  to  moral  inability,  or  qualified  by  it :  of 
gracious  ability,  as  a  substitute  for  natural,  or  the  equiva- 
lent of  its  restoration;  is  the  discassion  of  a  false  issu'), 
which  consequently  never  can  be  settled.  For  tnere  is 
really  no  such  thing  and  never  was,  as  an  ability  to  holi 
ness,  or  moral  perfection,  that  is  inherent.  If  we  speak 
of  natural  ability  to  good,  a  soul  has  no  more  natural 
abilit}''  to  maintain  the  state  of  perfect  goodness,  than  a 
tiee  to  grow  without  light,  or  heat,  or  moisture.  Depend- 
ence is  the  condition  of  all  true  holiness,  even  in  sinless 
minds,  if  such  there  be.  They  feed  on  what  their  God 
supplies,  they  are  radiant  with  his  light,  they  are  waxni 
by  his  heat,  they  are  blessed  and  exalted  by  the  participa- 
tion of  his  beatitude ;  nay,  his  all-moving  Spirit  is  the 
conserving  and  sustaining  life  of  their  perfections.  So  if 
we  speak  of  a  gracious  ability  given  to  souls  under  sm, 
conceiving  that  it  is  some  common  bestowment  given  to 
raise  them  up  into  a  plane  of  freedom,  or  the  possibility 
of  a  new  life,  which  gracious  ability  is  a  something  inhe- 
rent and  precedent  to  the  obligations  of  repentance,  thai 
also  is  a  pure  fiction ;  no  such  ability  is  given,  and  none 
is  wanted.  All  such  inventions  are  unnecessary  ;  as  also 
all  the  supposed  difiiculties  involved  in  the  reconciling  of 
responsibility  and  dependence, — they  are  all  superseded 
and  forever  passed  by,  the  moment  we  discover  and  fully 
come  into  the  truth  that  all  our  powers  and  responsibili- 
ties are  completed  in  and  by  our  conditions ;  or,  what  is 
the  same,  by  God's  arrangements  to  bring  in  increments 
of  grace  and  impulse  of  all  kinds,  just  when  th(^y^  are 
wanted.  There  is  no  difficulty  here  which  is  not  focmd 
in  all  those  examples  whiih  have  been  already  cited  from 


B'^"    OUR    OWN    ABILITY.  87S 

the  natural  life ;  for  God  bas  arranged,  in  the  Rpiritual  or 
Bupernaturai,  to  administer  helps  of  grace,  occasiong.  im- 
pulses, and  secret  ministries  of  love,  so  as  to  complete  our 
possibilities  and  keep  us  in  bonds  of  obligation  to  do  con- 
tinually what  we  can  as  little  do,  without  such  conspiring 
helj^s,  as  we  can  breathe  without  air,  or  maintain  life 
without  b]"eathing. 

This,  it  will  accordingly  be  found,  is  the  Christian  doc- 
tiine  everywhere.  Christianity  has  no  conception  of  any 
Buch  thing  as  a  holy  virtue  wrought  out  and  maintained 
by  a  responsible  agent,  acting  from  his  own  center,  as  a 
self-centered  and  merely  self-operative  force, — holy  virtue 
it  conceives,  ever  apart  from  sin,  to  be  the  drinking  out 
of  God's  fullness,  receiving  and  living  in  his  deific  im- 
pulse, and  having  even  its  finiteness  complemented  by 
His  infinite  wisdom  and  majesty.  As  little  conception 
has  it  of  sometliing  done  to  raise  a  fallen  creature  into 
some  inherent  capacity,  or  ability  to  choose  freely,  that  so 
lie  may  be  made  responsible  for  choice.  It  boldly,  undis- 
guisedly  declares  to  every  human  being  under  sin,  that  he 
has  no  complete  power  beforehand,  as  in  reference  to  any 
thing  really  good.  And  then  it  calls  him  to  good,  on  the 
express  condition  always,,  that  he  is  to  have  powers,  stim- 
ulants, increments,  accruing  as  he  wants  them ;  that  on 
these,  or  the  promise  of  tliem,  he  may  rest  his  faith  and 
BO  go  forward.  It  says  to  the  struggling  and  misgiving 
penitent;— Let  him  take  hold  of  my  strength,  that  he  may 
make  peace  with  me,  and  he  shall  make  peace  with  me. 
[t  calls  every  man  to  earnest  and  hopeful  endeavor,  by 
the  consideration  of  an  all-supporting  grace  that  can  not 
fail;— Work  out  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling;  for  il 
it?  God  that  worketh  in  you.     It  sh  )ws  the  Christian  testi- 

32 


874  DUTY    NOT    MEASURED 

fying  in  sublimity  of  confidence ;— When  I  am  weak,  then 
am  I  strong, — I  can  do  all  things  througli  Clirist  which 
strengtheneth  me.  It  promises  the  faithful  man  all  the 
support  needed  for  his  exigences,  as  they  rise, — They 
that  wait  on  the  Lord  shall  renew  their  strength ;  they 
ghall  mount  up  on  wings  as  eagles,  they  shall  run  and  not 
be  weary  they  shall  walk  and  not  faint.  It  also  estab- 
lishes, in  a  manner  to  comprehend  every  thing,  a  doctiine 
of  Divine  Concourse  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  which  carries  in 
it  the  pledge  of  all  accruing  grace  and  light  and  might 
and  holy  impulsion;— Ask  and  ye  shall  receive,  seek  and 
ye  shall  find,  knock  and  it  shall  be  opened.  Indeed  the 
doctrine  or  fact  of  the  Holy  Spirit  is  only  another  way  of 
generalizing  the  truth  that  God  will  co-work  invigora- 
lively,  correctively,  and  directively  in  all  the  good  strug- 
gles of  believing  souls ;  and  so  will  bring  in,  at  all  times 
and  junctures,  those  increments  of  power  that  are  neces- 
sary to  success. 

It  might  also  be  added  that  Christianity  itself  is  a 
grand  empowering  force  in  souls,  and  is  designed  to  be, — 
that  when  we  were  without  strength,  Christ  died  for  us. 
For  he  came  forth  into  the  world  groping  in  its  darkness, 
as  the  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory,  that  the  light  of 
the  knowledge  of  the  glory  of  God  in  the  face  of  hia 
great  life  and  passioi>,  might  shine  into  our  hearts.  As 
^h3.i  the  rctuming  sun  of  the  spring  warms  out  thti 
I'O'pii  creatures,  and  sets  them  creeping  forth,  re- vitalized 
and  re •empo'o ered  with  life,  so  this  Sun  of  Righteousness 
quicL'e'js  the  benumbed  perceptions  and  imparts  new 
warmth  to  the  dead  affections,  placing  us  in  new  condi- 
tions of  power;  where,  as  we  more  fully  believe,  and 
more  faithfully  work,  we  are  ever  to  find  new  increments 


BY     OUR    OWN    ABILITY.  375 

of  ligbt  and  help  conspiring  witTi  us.  It  only  remains  in 
gathering  up  this  summary  of  the  Christian  doctrine  con- 
cernmg  ability,  to  say  that,  taken  comprehensively,  it  is 
all  included  in  that  favorite  and  more  than  once  asserted 
maxim  of  Christ;  -For  to  him  tha:  hata  shall  be  given, 
and  he  shall  have  more  abundantly.  In  this  maxim  he 
alTirms  the  truth  that  every  man  is  to  expect  his  inero- 
ments  of  power,  just  as  they  are  wanted. 

In  this  very  simple  manner  all  the  great  speculative 
difficulties  and  supposed  mysteries  of  freedom  and  de- 
pendence are  dispatched  in  the  New  Testament.  And  il 
is  a  remarkable  fact  that  no  Christian  there  is  ever  found  to 
be  in  any  speculative  trouble  on  this  subject.  It  is  never 
even  so  much  as  a  question  of  curious  debate.  They  see 
nothing  wanted  there  but  just  to  go  into  their  places  and 
take  their  responsibilities,  and  let  God  bear  them  out  by 
his  conspiring  h^lp,  as  they  certainly  know  that  he  will. 
Paul  came  directly  down  upon  the  discovery  that  he  liad 
ability  to  will,  as  a  matter  of  choice,  and  yet  could  not 
nnd  how  to  perform ;  but,  instead  of  seeing  any  difficulty 
in  such  a  condition,  he  only  glories  thcit  in  Christ  and  the 
Spirit  he  gets  accruing  helps  that  enable  him  both  to  will 
and  to  do.  And  just  there,  where  he  might  have  sunk 
himself  in  one  of  tho  abysses  of  theology,  he  begins, 
instead,  to  sing;-I  thank  God  through  Jesus  Christ. 

I  will  only  add  chat  all  the  simplest,  most  living,  and 
ni.>st  genuine  Christians  of  our  own  time  are  such  as  lesl 
their  souls,  day  by  day,  on  this  confidence  and  promise  of 
accruing  power,  and  make  themselves  responsible,  not  foi 
what  they  have  in  some  inherent  ability,  but  for  what  they 
pan  have,  in  their  times  oF  stress  and  peril,  and  in  th(;  con 
tinual  raising  of  the  r  own  personal  quantity  ami  power, 


376  DUTY    NOT    MEASPRED 

They  tlirow  themselves  on  works  wholly  above  theli 
ability,  and  get  accruing  power  in  their  works  for  others 
still  higher  and  greater  Instead  of  gathering  in  their 
souls  timorously  beforehand,  upon  the  little  sufficiency 
they  nnd  in  possession,  they  look  upon  the  great  "world 
God  has  made,  and  all  the  greater  world  of  the  Sa^-iour't' 
kingdom  in  it,  as  being  friendly  and  tributary,  ready  to 
pour  in  help,  minister  light,  and  strengthen  them  to  vic- 
tory, jQst  according  to  their  faith.  And  so  they  grow  in 
courage,  confidence,  personal  volume,  efficiency  of  every 
kind,  and,  instead  of  slinking  into  their  graves  out  ol  im- 
p'otent  lives,  they  lie  down  in  the  honors  of  heroes. 

Let  me  express  the  hope,  in  closing  this  very  important 
subject,  that  a  class  of  persons  who  generally  compose  a 
large  body  in  every  christian  assembl}^,  will  iind  their  un- 
liappy  mistake  corrected  in  it.  I  speak  of  such  as  make 
no  beginning  in  the  christian  life,  just  because  they  wani 
ability  and  assurance  and  all  evidence  given  them  before- 
liand.  They  would  be  quite  read}^  to  embark,  if  the  voj^age 
were  as  good  as  over.  They  can  not  put  themselves  on 
God's  word,  or  trust  him  for  any  thing.  They  must  be 
strong  before  they  get  strength.  They  must  have  evidence 
of  disciplesliip  before  they  dare  to  be  disciples.  They  act 
upon  no  such  principle  in  any  of  their  worldly  adventures. 
Here  they  get  power  by  using  it,  throw  themselves  upon 
the  wat(;r  and  learn  to  swim  by  swimming.  Dismiss,  I  be- 
seech you,  one  and  all,  and  that  forever,  this  unpractical, 
this  real]y  unmanl;'  timidity.  Commit  the  keeping  of  youT 
mn]  to  God,  as  tc  a  faithful  Creator.  Believe  that  he  is 
faithful,  and  love  to  trust  him  for  his  foith fulness.  The 
Hitn^.ient  you  can  let  go  your  misgiving,  spiritless  habit. 


BY    OtR    OWN    ABILITY.  877 

and  cast  yourself  on  God,  to  go  into  your  duty,  you  are 
free.  If  the  wind  is  liigla,  and  the  water  looks  deep,  and 
you  ha,ve  no  courage  to  ventu  re  on  a  holy  life,  behold 
Jesus  coming  to  you,  treading  lightly  on  the  crests  of  the 
billows,  and  he  comes  to  say, — "  It  is  I."  What  assurance 
)nore  do  you  want  after  that? 

But  there  is  a  more  general  use  of  this  subject  whicb 
demands  our  notice.  There  ai'e  two  great  errors  which, 
though  opposite  to  each  other,  are  yet  both  corrected  by 
the  view  I  have  been  seeking  to  impress.  The  error,  viz., 
of  those  who  think  the  demands  of  the  religious  life  so 
limited  and  trivial  as  to  require  but  little  care  and  small 
sacrifices ;  and  the  error  of  those  who  look  upon  them  as 
being  so  many  and  great  that  they  are  discouraged  under 
them.  The  former  class  is  the  more  numerous  and  gener- 
\lly  the  more  worthless.  They  are  worldly  disciples  wlio 
have  much  christian  delight,  as  they  think,  in  magnifying 
salvation  by  grace.  God,  they  suppose,  will  not  be  very 
exact  with  them ;  for  he  is  a  gracious  and  long-suffering 
God,  and  does  not  expect  much  of  man  in  the  way  of 
goodness  or  effect.  They  take  a  certain  pleasure,  for 
reasons  more  artful  than  they  themselves  suspect,  in  dwell- 
ing on  the  weakness  of  men  and  their  deep  dependence  on 
God.  This  is  their  reverence  they  imagine,  their  humility ; 
yes,  it  is  even  a  very  considerable  part  of  their  religion. 
Of  couise  they  undertake  nothing,  throw  themselves  upon 
!io  grefit  work  of  duty.  They  are  so  respectful  to  theii 
humaA  weakness  that  they  measure  their  obligations  by  it, 
and  really  undertake  nothing  that  makes  them  feel  theii 
weakness,  or  d.emands  any  gift  of  grace  and  power  trans 
eotiding  it. 

32* 


378  DUTY     NOT    MEASURED 

How  different  is  tlie  view  of  duty  that  God  entoi  tains 
for  us,  and  everywhere  asserts  in  the  scriptures.  In  his 
sight  we  are  all  under  obligation  continually  to  undertake 
and  do  what  is  above  our  power,  and  to  have  this  as  the 
acknowledged  rule  of  our  life.  He  requires  of  us  to  be 
doing  what  we  shall  feel,  to  be  carrying  loads  of  duty  and 
responsibility  and  sacrifice,  under  which,  as  men,  we  must 
tremble  and  faint ;  and  so  to  be  proving  always  that,  to 
them  that  have  no  might,  he  increaseth  strength.  We  are 
to  undertake  cheerfully  and  do  with  a  ready  mind  all 
which,  under  his  provisions  of  nature  and  grace,  we  may 
become  able  to  do. 

Feeble  are  we  ?  Ye;;,  without  God  we  are  nothing.  But 
what,  by  faith,  every  man  may  be,  God  requires  him  to  be. 
This  is  the  only  christian  idea  of  duty.  Measure  obliga- 
tion by  inherent  ability  !  No,  my  brethren,  christian  obli- 
gation has  a  very  difterent  measure.  It  is  measured  by  the 
power  that  God  will  give  us,  measured  by  the  gifts  and 
possible  increments  of  faith.  And  what  a  reckoning  will 
it  be  for  many  of  us,  when  Christ  summons  us  to  answer 
before  him,  under  this  law,  not  for  what  we  were,  but  for 
wnat  we  might  have  been.  Then  how  many  of  us  possi- 
bly, that  bore  the  name  of  Jesus,  will  find  ourselves  before 
God,  as  the  mere  residuary  substances  of  a  dry  and  fruit- 
less life ;  without  volume,  without  strength,  or  any  proper 
christian  manhood.  The  souls  whom  it  was  given  us  to 
lead  to  the  Saviour  are  not  there ;  the  religious  societies 
we  ought  to  have  gathered,  the  temples  of  worship  we 
ought  to  have  erected  and  left  as  monuments  of  our  fidelity, 
the  charities  we  ought  to  have  founded  and  consecrated  to 
the  blessing  of  the  coming  ages; — all  these  good  things 
that  we  might  hava  done,  and  which  God  was  ready  tc 


BY    OUR    OWN    ABILITY.  378 

empower  us  for  doing,  nowhere  appear.  And  is  thai  the 
tind  of  reckoning  in  which  wc  are  to  be  accepted  as  good 
and  faithful  servants?  My  brethren,  God  has  httle  part 
witt  you,  or  you  with  him,  in  such  a  kind  of  life.  A  very 
delicate  and  critical  question  it  is  whether  you  have  any 
pan  with  him  at  all.  That  only  is  christian  faith  that  Uvea 
in  the  power  of  faith ,  in  that  does  its  works,  makes  ita 
sacrifices,  sustains  its  hopes,  and  measures  its  holy  obliga- 
tions. Almost  every  thing  a  Christian  is  to  do  for  hia 
times  and  the  sphere  in  which  he  lives  transcends  his 
ability,  and  the  very  greatness  and  joy  of  his  experience, 
shall  I  not  say  the  reality  also,  consists  in  the  fact  that  ho 
is  exalted  above  himself,  and  made  a  partaker,  in  his  works, 
of  a  divine  power,  as  in  his  character  of  the  divine  nature. 
He  is  a  man  who  lives  in  God  and  by  God  is  girded  to 
his  duties  and  his  triumphs, — God  in  nature^  God  in  the 
gospel,  God  in  the  Spirit,  God  in  the  plenitude  of  his 
promises. 

I  named  another  error,  that  viz.,  of  those  who  really 
think  that  the  wa}^  of  duty  is  too  hard  for  them,  who  faint 
bexjause  the  demands  of  God  appear  to  be  so  high  above 
their  power.  They  forget,  or  overlook  the  provision  God 
has  made  to  bring  in  increments  of  power,  and  support 
them,  in  what  appears  to  be  too  high  for  them.  They  heaf 
the  call, — give  ye  them  to  eat,  and  remember  only  their 
five  loaves  and  two  fishes,  and  what  are  these  among  so 
many?  They  seem  not  to  n3tice,  or,  if  they  notice,  not 
CO  believe,  those  words  of  promise  by  which  God  encour- 
ages  and  supports  the  insufficiency  of  men.  Thus,  if  any 
one,  trying  to  make  higher  attainments  and  achieve  some 
higher  standing  in  religion,  is  overwhelmed  with  the  in* 


380  DUTY    N01    MEASURED 

firmity  and  bitter  evil  of  liis  own  heart,  and  cries, — M3 
iniquities  have  taken  hold  upon  me,  so  that  I  am  not  able 
to  look  up ;  what  is  there  in  such  a  discovery  to  break 
down  his  confidence  ?  Just  there  is  the  place  for  him  tc 
believe  and  begin  to  sing  with  Paul, — I  thank  God,  through 
Jesus  Christ  my  Lord.  The  very  first  thing  to  be  held  hy 
a  true  Christian,  is  that  he  has  no  inherent  sufficiency  foi 
any  thing ;  and  then,  upon  the  top  of  that,  he  should  place, 
as  the  universal  antidote  of  discouragement,  the  great 
principle  of  accruing  grace,  sealed  by  the  promise, — My 
grace  is  sufficient  for  thee. 

So,  again,  there  are  many  who  faint  when  they  look  011 
almost  any  duty  or  good  work,  because  they  are  so  con- 
sciously unequal  to  it.  Why,  if  they  were  not  unequal, 
or  felt  themselves  to  be  equal,  they  had  better,  for  that 
reason,  decline  it;  for  there  is  nothing  so  utterly  weak  and 
impotent  as  this  conceit  of  strength.  Brethren,  the  day  is 
wearing  away,  this  is  a  desert  place,  there  are  hungry,  per- 
ishing m altitudes  round  us,  and  Christ  is  saying  to  us  all, — 
Give  ye  them  to  eat.  Say  not — we  can  not,  we  have  nothing 
to  give.  Go  to  3^our  duty,  every  man,  and  trust  yourselves 
to  him ;  for  he  will  give  you  all  supply,  just  as  fast  as  you 
need  it.  You  will  have  just  as  much  power  as  you  believe 
you  can  have.  Suppose,  for  example,  you  are  called  to  be 
a  Sabbath-school  teacher,  and  j^ou  say  within  yourself, — I 
have  no  experience,  no  capacity,  I  must  decline.  That  is 
the  way  to  keep  your  incapacity  forever.  A  truce  to  these 
cowardly  suggestions.  Be  a  Christian,  throw  yours(3lf  upon 
God's  work,  and  get  the  ability  you  want,  in  it.  So,  if  y ;.'U 
are  put  in  charge  of  any  such  effort  or  institution ;  so,  if 
you  are  called  to  any  work  or  office  in  the  church,  cr  tc 
any  exercise  for  the  edification  of  others;  say  not  that  you 


I 


BY     OUR    OWN    ABILITY.  881 

are  unable  to  edify ;  undertake  to  edify  others,  and  thcc 
you  will  edify  yourself  and  become  able.  So  only  is  it 
possible  for  christian  youth  to  ripen  into  a  vigorous  chris' 
tiun  manhood.  All  the  pillars  of  the  church  are  made  out 
of  what  would  only  be  weeds  in  it,  if  there  were  no  duties 
assumed,  above  their  ability  in  the  green  state  of  weeds. 
And  it  is  not  the  weeds  whom  Christ  will  save,  but  the 
pillars.  No  Christian  will  ever  be  good  for  any  thing 
without  christian  courage,  or,  what  is  the  same,  christian 
faith.  Take  upon  you  readily,  have  it  as  a  law  to  be  al- 
ways doing  it,  great  works ;  that  is,  works  that  are  great 
to  you ;  and  this  in  the  faith  that  God  so  clearly  justifies, 
that  your  abilities  will  be  as  j^our  works.  Make  largo 
adventures.  Trust  in  God  for  great  things.  "With  your 
five  loaves  and  t\yo  fishes  he  will  show  you  a  way  to  feed 
thousands. 

There  is  almost  no  limit  to  the  power  that  may  be  ex- 
erted by  a  single  church  in  this  or  any  other  community. 
Fill  your  places,  meet  your  opportunities,  and  despair  of 
nothing.  Shine  as  lights,  because  you  are  luminous ;  let 
the  Spirit  of  Christ  and  of  God  be  visible  in  you,  because 
you  are  filled  therewith;  and  you  will  begin  to  see  what 
power  is  possible  to  weakness !  Have, faith,  0,  ye  of  little 
faith.  Hear  the  good  word  of  the  Lord,  when  he  &ays, — • 
1  have  called  thee  by  thy  name,  thou  art  mine.  Fear 
r.ot,  O,  thou  worm,  Jacob.  Behold  I  will  make  thee  a 
new  sharp  threshing  instrument,  having  teeth  ;  thou  shalt 
thresh  the  mountains  and  beat  them  small,  and  shalt 
make  the  hills  as  chaff.  Such  arc  God's  promises.  Let 
US  believe  them ;  which  if  we  can  heartily  do,  nothing  is 
impossible. 


XI. 

HE   THAT   KNOWS   GOD   WILL   CONFESS   HIM. 

P?ALM  xl,  10 — "/  hai^e  not  hid  thy  rightemr^ness  iciihh 
my  heart ;  I  have  declared  thy  fnitJifi.drjess  and  thy  sahatton: 
I  have  not  concealed  thy  loving -kindness  and  thy  truth  from 
the  great  congregation.'''' 

What  any  true  poet  will  say  is  commonly  most  natural 
to  be  said  and  deepest  in  the  truth ;  for  his  art  is  to  be 
unrestrained  by  art,  and  to  let  the  inspiration  of  his  in- 
most,  deepest  life  vent  itself  in  song.  And  this  exactly  is 
the  manner  of  our  great  Psalmist,  We  are  not  to  under- 
stand that,  in  using  the  indicative  form,  he  is  merely  re- 
citing a  historic  fact,  and  telling  us  that  he  has  not  hid 
God's  righteousness  in  his  heart.  His  meaning  is  deeper ; 
viz.,  to  say  that  he  could  not  do  it,  but  must  needs 
testify  of  the  goodness,  and  sing  of  the  sweetness,  and 
exult  in  the  joy,  he  had  found  in  the  salvation  of  God  and 
the  secret  witness  of  his  Spirit.  Nay,  he  must  even  .send 
his  song  into  the  temple,  and  call  on  all  the  great  congre- 
gation of  Israel  to  sing  it  with  him,  and  raise  it  as  a  chorus 
of  praise  to  the  great  Jehovah.  What  I  propose,  accord- 
ingl}',  at  the  present  time,  is  to  speak  of — 

The  necessary  openness  of  a  holy  experience  ;  or,  in  other 
words,  of  the  impossibility  that  the  inivard  revelation  cf  God 
m  the  soul  should  he  shut  up  in  it,  and  remain  hid,  or  unof. 
hiowledgcd. 


HE   THAT    KNOWS   GOD  WILL  CONFESS   HIM.  383 

I  shall  have  in  view  especially  two  classes  of  hearera 
that  are  widcl}^  distinguished  one  from  the  other;  first, 
the  clciss  who  hide  the  grace  of  God  in  their  heart  unde- 
signedly, or  b}^  reason  of  some  undue  modesty ;  and  seC' 
ondly,  the  class  who,  pretending  to  have  it,  or  consciously 
l.aving  it  not,  take  a  pleasure  in  throwing  discredit  on  all 
tlie  appropriate  expressions  of  it,  such  as  are  made  by 
the  open  testimon^^  and  formal  profession  of  Christ  before 
men. 

The  former  class  are  certainly  blamable  in  no  such 
sense  or  degree  as  the  others.  They  are  naturally  timor- 
ous and  self-distrustful  persons,  it  may  be,  and  do  nut  see 
that  thc}^  are  distrusting  God  rather  than  themselves. 
They  seem  to  themselves  to  have  been  truly  renewed  in 
the  love  of  God,  but  they  have  some  doubts,  and  they  make 
it  appear  to  be  wiser  that  they  should  not,  just  now,  testify 
their  supposed  new  experience.  It  is  better,  they  think, 
to  wait  till  they  have  had  a  long,  secret  trial  of  themselves, 
and  learned  whether  they  can  endure, — better,  that  is,  to 
see  whether  they  can  keep  alive  the  grace  under  suppres- 
sion ;  when  it  must  be  inflillibly  stifled  and  can  not  live, 
except  in  the  open  field  of  duty  and  love  and  holy  fellow- 
ship. They  are  not  simple ;  they  are  unnatural ;  what  is 
in  them,  in  their  feeling,  their  secret  hope,  their  joy  begun, 
they  regulate  and  suppress.  If  they  were  placed  in  heaven 
it;3elf,  they  would  not  sing  the  first  month,  pretending  that 
they  had  not  tried  their  voices,  or  perchance  doubting 
whether  it  is  quite  modest  in  them  to  thank  God  for  hia 
Diurcy,  till  they  are  more  sure  whether  it  is  really  to  be 
sufficient  in  them.  There  is  a  great  deal  of  unbelief  in 
their  backwardness ;  a  great  deal  of  self  consciousness  in 
their  modesty;  and  sometimes  a  little  will  is  cunningly 


384  HE    THAT    KNOWS    GOD 

mixed  witli  both.  Sometimes  they  wait  to  be  exhorted 
and  made  much  of  by  the  sympathy  of  others.  Som(?- 
times  the  very  wicked  thought  is  cunning'iy  let  in,  behind 
their  seeming  delicacy,  that  God  should  do  more  for  them, 
and  give  them  an  experience  with  greater  circumstance. 

In  o])position  now  to  both  these  classes,  and  without 
assuming  to  measure  and  graduate  the  exact  degree  of 
their  blame  before  God,  I  undertake  to  show  that,  where 
there  is  a  true  grace  of  experience  in  the  heart,  it  ought 
to  be,  must,  and  will  be  manifest.  And  I  bring  to  your 
notice — 

1.  The  evident  fact  that  a  true  inward  experience,  or 
discovery  of  God  in  the  heart,  is  itself  an  impulse  also  of 
self-manifestation,  as  all  love  and  gratitude  are— wants  to 
speak  and  declare  itself,  and  will  as  naturallj^  do  it,  when 
it  is  born,  as  a  child  will  utter  its  first  cry.  And  exactly 
this,  as  I  just  now  said,  is  what  David  means;  viz..  that 
he  had  been  obliged  to  speak,  and  was  never  able  to  shut 
up  the  fire  burning  in  his  spirit,  from  the  first  moment 
when  it  was  kindled.  He  speaks  as  one  who  could  not 
find  how  to  suppress  the  joy  that  filled  his  heart,  but  must 
needs  break  loose  in  a  testimony  for  God.  And  so  it  is 
in  all  cases  the  instinct  of  a  new  heart,  in  its  experience 
of  God,  to  acknowledge  him.  No  one  ever  thinks  it  u 
matter  of  delicacy,  or  genuine  modesty,  to  entirely  sup- 
press any  reasonable  joy ;  least  of  all,  any  fit  testimony 
of  gratitude  toward  a  deliverer  and  for  a  deliverance.  In 
guch  a  case  no  one  ever  asks,  what  is  the  use  ?  where  is 
the  propriety  ?  for  it  is  the  simple  instinct  of  his  nature 
to  speak,  and  he  speaks. 

Thus,  if  one  of  you  had  been  rescued,  in  n  shipv/reck 


WILL    CONFESS    HIM.  385 

on  a  foreign  shore,  hy  some  common  sailor  who  had 
risked  his  life  to  save  you,  and  you  should  discover  him 
across  the  street  in  some  great  city,  yon  would  rush  to  his 
side,  seize  his  hand,  and  begin  at  once,  with  a  choking 
utterance,  to  testify  your  gratitude  to  him  for  so  great  a 
deliverance.  Or,  if  you  should  pass  restiainedly  on, 
making  no  sign,  pretending  to  yourself  that  you  might  be 
wanting  in  delicacy  or  modesty  to  publish  your  private 
feelings,  by  any  such  eager  acknowledgment  of  your  de- 
liverer, or  that  you  ought  first  to  be  more  sure  of  the 
genuineness  of  3^our  gratitude,  what  opinion  must  we 
have,  in  such  a  case,  of  your  heartlessness  and  falseness 
to  nature.  In  the  same  simple  way,  all  ambition  apart, 
all  conceit  of  self  forgot,  all  artificial  and  mock  modesty 
excluded,  it  will  be  the  instinct  of  every  one.  that  lovea 
God  to  acknowledge  him.  He  will  say  with  our  Psalmist, 
on  another  occasion, — Come  and  hear,  all  ye  that  fear 
God,  and  I  will  declare  what  he  hath  done  for  my  soul. 
Verily  God  hath  heard  me,  he  hath  attended  to  the  voice 
of  my  prayer. 

2.  The  change  implied  in  a  true  Christian  experience, 
or  the  revelation  of  God  in  the  heart,  is  in  its  very  nature 
the  soul  and  root  of  an  outward  change  that  is  corres- 
pondent. The  fliith  im|>lanted  is  a  faith  that  works  in 
appropriate  demonstrations,  and  must  as  certainly  work, 
as  a  living  heart  must  beat  or  pulsate.  It  is  the  right- 
eousness of  God  revealed  within,  to  be  henceforth  the 
actuating  spring  and  power  of  a  righteous  and  devoted 
life.  It  will  inform  the  whole  man.  It  will  glow  in  th( 
countenance.  It  will  irradiate  the  eye.  It  will  s])eak 
from  the  tong-ie.  It  will  modulate  the  very  gait.  It  will 
enter  into  all  the  transactions  of  business,  the  dorreatir 

83 


38d  HE    THAT    KNOWS    GOD 

tempers,  the  social  manifestations  and  offices.  It  will 
make  the  man  a  benefector,  and  call  him  into  self-sacri- 
fice f3r  God  and  the  truth.  It  will  send  him  forth  to  be 
God's  advocate  with  men,  and  require  him,  in  that  man- 
ner, to  make  full  testimony,  either  formally  or  by  impli- 
cation, of  what  God  has  done  for  him.  Of  this,  now,  a 
true  Christian  experience  is  the  root  and  beginning,  else 
it  is  nothing.  The  inward  change  is  no  reality,  but  a 
pure  fiction,  if  it  does  not  issue  in  this.  In  this  it  will 
issue,  when  it  is  allowed  to  act  unrestrainedly,  even 
though  it  be,  at  first,  the  smallest  seed  of  grace  posdble. 
And  O,  what  multitudes  are  there,  in  whom  God  is  just 
beginning  to  be  revealed,  who  by  some  false  modesty, 
some  morbid  thought  of  prudence,  refusing  to  be  natural 
and  simple,  take  the  mode  of  silence,  secresy,  or  suppres- 
sion, and  so,  in  a  very  few  days  or  months,  fatally  stifle 
the  grace  of  their  salvation.  The  result  is  worse,  only  in 
the  fact  that  the  abuse  is  more  wicked,  when  the  subject 
dares,  in  the  hour  of  his  holy  visitation,  to  deliberately 
make  up  his  mind  that  he  will  have  his  new-born  joy  as  a 
secret,  and  live  in  it  for  some  years,  at  least,  until  he  has 
absolutely  proved  the  genuineness  of  his  faith.  It  will 
not  be  long,  in  such  a  case,  before  he  gets  evidence  enough 
against  it;  for  the  only  and  the  absolutely  necessary  proof 
of  its  genuineness  is  that  it  reveals  itself;  comes  out  into 
action,  becomes  a  life  and  a  confession.  The  good  tree 
will  show  the  good  fruit.  It  can  not  go  on  to  bear  the 
old,  baa  fruit  out  of  modesty,  or  a  pretended  shrinking* 
from  ostentation  ;  it  must  reveal  the  righteousness  of  God 
•within,  by  the  fruits  of  righteousness  without,  else  it  is 
only  a  mockery. 

3.  If  any  one  proposes  beforehand,  in  hi.--  religion? 


WILL    CONFESS    HIM.  387 

endeavors,  or  in  seeking  after  Gol,  to  come  into  a  i?ecrvM 
experience  and  keep  it  a  secret,  his  endeavor  is  plainlj' 
one  that  falsifies  the  very  notion  of  christian  piety,  and  if 
he  succeeds  or  seems  to  succeed,  he  only  practices  a  fraud 
in  which  he  imposes  on  himself.  He  proposes  to  find  ^ 
grace,  or  obtain  a  grace  from  God,  that  he  will  hide  an'? 
will  not  acknowledge,  a  grace,  too,  that  will  neither  gi'ow 
Qor  shine.  Instead  of  taking  up  his  cross  to  follow  Christ, 
sacrificing  openly  wealth,  reputation,  friends,  home,  every 
thing  deal-  for  his  Master's  sake,  he  is  going  to  find  a 
grace  that  lj]-ings  in  fact  no  cross,  requires  no  sacrifice. 
He  is  going  to  be  saved  in  a  more  easy  and  more  agreeable 
way  than  to  come  out  and  take  his  Master's  part  and  bear 
the  rough  work  of  "his  Master's  calling.  To  meet  the 
scorn  of  the  world,  and  endure  the  hardness  that  distin 
guishes  a  soldier,  is  not  in  liis  thoughts.  Perhaps  he  does 
not  expect  to  be  so  much  of  a  Christian,  so  high  in  his 
attainments,  and  so  eminently  useful,  but  he  hopes  to  be 
just  enough  Christian,  in  this  more  delicate  and  secret 
way,  to  save  him ;  beyond  which  he  cares  for  nothing 
more.  But  you  have  only  to  look  into  his  heart,  in  such 
a  case,  to  see  that  his  motive  is  bad,  even  beyond  respect. 
Ele  is  only  fawning  about  the  cross,  to  get  some  private 
token  of  gTace,  when  he  does  not  mean  to  make  any  ex- 
pense, or  suffer  any  loss  or  self-denial  for  it.  To  come 
out  and  be  separate,  to  make  the  cause  and  truth  of  Jesus 
a  care  of  his  own,  to  live  a  life  that  witnesses  for  God,  is 
not  his  })lan.  He  means  no  such  thing.  He  wants,  in 
fact,  to  be  saved  by  a  fraud ;  that  is,  by  a  secret  experi- 
ence hid  in  the  heart,  which  makes  no  open  testimony, 
costs  no  sacrifice  for  God.  To  say  that  such  a  state  of 
nfiiud  i&  untruth  itself,  and  that  any  spiritual  experience  it 


888  HE    THAT    KNOWS    GOD 

may  assme  to  have  had  is  no  better,  would  be  an  insuL 
even  to  your  understanding. 

4.  It  is  not  less  clear,  as  I  have  already  said  incidentally, 
and  now  say  only  more  directly,  that  the  grace  of  God  in 
the  heart,  unmanifested  or  kept  secret,  as  many  propose 
that  it  shall  be,  even  for  their  whole  life,  will  be  certainly 
stifled  and  extinguished.  The  thought  itself  is  a  mocker^y 
of  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  heart  might  as  well  be  required 
to  live  and  not  beat,  as  the  new  heart  of  love  to  hush 
itself  and  keep  still  in  the  bosom.  Nothing  can  live  that 
is  not  permitted  to  show  the  signs  of  life.  Even  a  tree,  a 
solid,  massive  oak,  embracing  the  earth  in  roots  equal  to 
half  its  volume,  and  drawing  out  of  the  rich  soil  its  needed 
nutriment,  will  be  stifled  and  yield  up  its  life,  if  it  can  not 
put  on  leaves  at  the  extremities  and  grow.  So  let  any, 
the  best  and  ripest  Christian,  if  such  a  one  could  be 
induced  to  do  it,  (as  most  assuredly  he  could  not,)  retire 
from  all  the  acts  and  forbid  himself  all  the  duties,  by 
which  he  would  manifest  his  love  to  God,  and  declare 
God's  love  to  men,  and  that  love  would  very  soon  be  so 
far  smothered  in  his  bosom,  as  to  leave  no  evidence  there 
of  its  existence.  Accordingly  you  will  find  that  all  that 
class  of  persons,  who  take  the  turn  described,  give  the 
most  abundant  proofs,  ere  long,  that  God  is  not  wiih 
tbera.  How  can  he  be  with  them,  when  they  propose 
even  to  be  disciples  in  such  a  way  that,  if  all  others  wei-e 
to  follow  and  be  like  them,  Christ  would  not  have  a 
fiharch,  or  even  one  acknowledged  friend  or  follower  on 
earth  ?  Will  he  consent,  by  his  Spirit,  do  you  think,  to 
uphold  a  race  of  secret,  unacknowledged  followers,  in  thin 
manner ;  followers  who  turn  their  back  to  him,  will  not 
sonfess.  will  not  even  speak,  ( r  act  the  grace  they  receive 7 


WILL    CONFESS    HIM.  38J/ 

Be  it  ratbei  a  faithful,  as  it  is  a  most  evident  saying, — Foi 
if  we  be  dead  with  him,  we  shall  also  live  with  hijn ;  if 
we  suffer,  we  shall  also  reign  with  him ;  if  we  deny  him, 
he  also  will  deny  us. 

5.  This  is  the  express  teaching  of  the  gospel,  which 
every  where  and  in  every  possible  way  calls  out  the  souls 
renewed  in  Christ  to  live  an  open  life  of  sacrifice  and 
duty,  and  so  to  witness  a  good  confession. — Come  said 
follow  me,  is  the  word  of  Jesus.  Deny  thj^self,  take  up 
thy  cross,  and  follow  me.  If  it  is  a  lowly  calling,  if  we 
can  not  descend  to  it,  then  he  says, — Blessed  is  he  who  is 
not  offended  in  me.  If  our  pride,  or  the  pride  of  our 
position,  is  too  great,  then  he  says, — Whosoever  shall  be 
ashamed  of  me  and  of  my  words,  of  him  shall  the  Son 
of  man  be  ashamed,  when  he  shall  come  in  his  glory.  To 
pxciude  any  possible  thought  of  a  secret  discipleship,  he 
says,— I  have  chosen  you  and  ordained  3'ou,  that  ye 
should  bring  forth  fruit, — I  have  chosen  you  out  of  the 
world,  therefore  the  world  hateth  you,  and  will  persecute 
you  as  it  has  persecuted  me.  In  the  same  way  his  apos- 
tles call  upon  all  that  love  him  to  come  out  and  be  sepa- 
rate, to  put  on  the  whole  armor  of  God  and  stand,  to  fight 
openly  the  good  fight,  to  endure  hardness,  to  make  a  loss 
of  all  things  for  his  sake,  to  be  his  witnesses  before  men; 
leading  always  the  way  by  their  own  bold,  faithful  testi- 
mony. When  you  look,  for  example,  on  such  a  character 
as  Paul,  it  is  even  difficult  to  conceive  how  there  c^an  ever 
be  any  real  communion  of  spirit,  in  any  futui-e  world,  be- 
tween him  and  one  so  opposite  as  to  think  of  living  a 
secret,  un avowed  piety.  Between  that  craven  way  of  se- 
crecy and  mere  self-saving  on  one  hand,  and  his  great  hearl 
of  love  and  labor  on  the  other,  can  any  bond  of  sjmpa 

33^ 


890  HE    THAT    KNOWS    GOT) 

thy  ever  exist '  Scarcely  does  an  open  transgress(»r,  acting 
out,  with  strong  audacity,  the  unbelief  and  wickedness  of 
which  he  dares  to  take  the  responsibility,  appear  to  be  a? 
far  removed,  or  as  radically  unlike.  It  never  once  occurs 
tc  Paul  that  he  can  keep  the  grace  hid  in  his  heart.  H«i 
does  not  appear  to  come  forth  and  speak  because  he  has  it 
as  a  point  of  obligation,  as  perhaps  Daniel  opened  his  win- 
dow to  let  his  prayer  be  heard,  but  he  has  a  testimony  to 
give  for  Jesus  that  he  must  give,  because  of  the  fire  it 
kindles  in  his  heart.  So  before  the  Areopagus,  and  Felix, 
and  Agrippa,  and  Caesar,  and  on  every  shore  touched  by 
his  feet,  he  goes  preaching  the  word  and  telling  the  story 
of  his  wonderful  experience  on  the  way  to  Damascus. 
Who  that  looks  on  this  heroic  figure,  and  sees  how  the 
heavenly  ardor  raised  in  this  man's  breast  by  the  revelation 
of  Jesus,  impels  him  forth  and  sends  him  through  the 
world,  in  a  life-long  testimony  which  no  sacrifices  or  per- 
ils are  able  to  arrest,  can  descend,  for  one  moment,  to  so 
mean  a  thought,  as  the  possibility  of  being  saved  by  -i 
secret  piety.     Again — 

6.  It  deserves  to  be  made  a  distinct  point  that  there  is 
no  shade  of  encouragement  given  to  this  notion  of  salva- 
tion by  a  secret  piety,  in  any  of  the  scripture  examples  or 
teachings.  If  there  is  to  be  a  large  body  of  the  secret 
heirs  of  salvatior,  such  as  will  greatly  surprise  the  more 
open,  more  pretentious  friends  of  God,  when  they  see  the 
number,  there  ought  to  be  at  least  some  examples  in  the 
scripture  to  encourage  such  an  expectation.  The  nearest 
approach  to  such  encouragement  any  where  given,  is  thoi 
which  is  afforded  by  the  case  of  the  two  senators,  Josepfci 
and  Nicodemus.  One  of  them  we  are  told  was  a  disciple 
secretly,  for  fear  of  the  Jews.     And  the  other  came  '<• 


WILL    CONFESS    HIM.  391 

Jt'siis  bj  iiiglit,  to  inquire  of  him,  that  he  miglit,  not  be 
counted  a  disciple.  Both  of  them  appear  to  have  kept 
silence  on  his  trial  before  the  council,  letting  the  decision 
go  against  him  there,  and  taking  no  responsibility  on  hia 
account.  But  after  he  was  crucified,  they  came  to  ask  the 
body  and  brought  spices  to  embalm  it.  They  were  good 
as  disciples  to  bury  Jesus,  but  not  to  save  his  life,  or  servo 
him  while  living.  Indeed  if  they  had  truly  embalmed 
him  in  their  hearts,  so  that  we  could  hear  of  them  after- 
ward, making  common  cause  with  the  disciples,  it  would 
greatly  comfort  us  concerning  them.  Shall  we  ever  hear 
any  thing  more  of  them,  in  that  world  where  God's  true 
witnesses  are  gathered  and  crowned  ?  The  truth  is  that 
there  is  a  very  heavy  shade  over  these  two  delicate  and  court- 
ly friends  of  Jesus.  They  were  men  of  society,  and  there- 
fore saw  the  dignity  of  Jesus,  but  if  you  would  like  to  be 
reasonably  confident  of  your  salvation,  it  certainly  becomes 
you  to  do  something  a  great  deal  more  positive  than  to 
let  your  Master  die,  making  no  stand  for  him  even  in  the 
council  where  his  death  is  voted,  and  then  come  in  with 
spices  to  bury  him.  The  most  fragrant  spices  are  those 
that  honor  one's  life,  and  not  the  posthumous  odors  that 
embalm  his  body.  How  singular  is  it  too  that  not  even 
the  Pentecost  calls  out  these  disciples  of  the  tomb.  It  is 
as  if  the;y  had  been  buried  with  their  Master  and  had  not 
risen.  In  that  wondrous  scene  of  fellowship  where  so 
many,  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  are  surprised  to  find 
themselves  confessing  and  embiacing,  in  open  brother- 
hood, strangers  of  all  climes  and  orders,  and  selling  even 
their  goods  to  relieve  the  common  wants,  it  does  not  ap- 
pear that  any  spices  of  the  heavenly  charity  nre  brought 
In  by  these  two  secret  friends  of  Jesus.     When  all  beside 


692  HE     THAI     KNOWS    GOD 

are  of  one  accord,  rejoicing  in  acts  of  commuiiiou,  suob 
as  tlie  world  lias  never  seen,  tliey  have  no  part  in  it 
Ananias  and  Sapphira  bad  as  much,  or  even  more. 

Is  it  such  examples  that  give  encouragement  to  a  secrel 
})iety  ?  These  two  had  certainly  some  notion  of  such  a  di-^- 
cipleship,  but  who  will  care  to  receive  it  from  them?  ]!^o, 
the  real  disciple  is  different ;  he  is  thought  of  as  a  man  whu 
stands  for  his  Master,  and  is  willing  to  die  for  his  Master. 
Ye  are  the  light  of  the  world;  and  the  light  of  the  world 
is  lighted  up,  of  course,  to  shine.  Men  do  not  light  a 
candle,  he  says,  and  put  it  under  a  bushel.  Let  your 
light  so  shine,  that  others,  seeing  your  good  works,  may 
glorify  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven. 

Drawing  our  subject  now  to  a  conclusion,  we  notice,  fi]'st 
of  all,  in  a  way  of  practical  application,  the  very  absard 
pretense  of  those  who  congratulate  themselves  on  Itaving 
so  much  of  secret  merit,  which  they  even  count  the  more 
meritorious  because  they  keep  it  secret.  Some  persons  ol 
a  generally  correct  life  are  put  on  this  course  by  the  flat- 
teries of  others,  who  love  to  let  down  the  honors  of  relig- 
ion, and  hold  them  up  as  a  foil  in  doing  it.  Some  do  it 
willfully  and  scornfully,  hinting  that  people  who  make 
60  great  a  noise  about  religion  would  do  well  to  be  moro 
modest,  and  that,  if  they  were  willing  to  proclaim  their 
own  merits,  perhaps  they  might  make  as  good  a  show 
themselves.  And  yet  how  man}^  are  there,  if  we  may 
(rust  the  world's  report,  of  these  secret  saints! — not  the 
least,  but  the  greatest  of  all  saints !  tt  is  very  much  as  i/ 
a  nation,  fighting  for  its  liberties,  had  vast  armies  of  secrel 
patriots,  who  did  not  believe  in  making  so  great  a  noise  in 
till 3  dust  and  carnage  of  the  field,  but,  since  they  are  toe 


WILL    CONFESS    HIM.  893 

modest  \o  put  their  superior  bravery  forward,  ami  rush  tc 
the  onset  shouting  for  their  country,  are  to  be  counted,  foi 
their  modesty's  sake,  the  bravest  and  truest  patriots  of  all 
The  real  truth  is,  in  respect  to  almost  all  these  pretend- 
ers to  a  secret  religion,  that  they  are  persons  who  know 
nothing  of  it.  They  are  moralists,  it  may  be,  practicing  at 
what  the  J  call  a  virtue  by  themselves,  but  they  do  noth- 
ing that  brings  them  into  any  relationship  with  God.  It 
is  not  the  righteousness  of  God  which  they  have  hidden 
go  carefull}^,  but  it  is  their  own, — which,  after  all,  is  not 
hid.  They  never  pray,  they  have  no  experience  of  God, 
they  are  as  ignorant  as  the  worst  of  men  of  any  such  thing 
as  a  divine  joy  in  the  heart.  They  do  not  break  out  and 
confess  the  Lord,  simply  because  he  is  not  in  them.  Noth- 
ing is  in  them  but  themselves,  and  they  do  confess  them- 
selves, they  even  boast  themselves.  Just  as  naturally 
would  they  boast  and  testify  the  love  of  God,  if  they  felt 
its  power.  They  really  publish  all  the  merit  they  have 
now,  and,  when  religion  dawns  in  their  hearty  they  will  as 
certainly  declare  the  grace  of  God  in  that. 

And  this  again  brings  us  to  notice  the  significance  of  the 
profession  of  Christ,  when,  and  why,  and  with  what  views, 
it  should  be  made.  It  should  be  made,  because  where 
there  is  any  thing  to  be  professed,  it  can  not  but  be  made. 
If  a  man  loves  God  he  will  take  his  part  with  God,  just  as 
a  citizen  who  loves  his  country  will  take  the  part  of  his 
country.  He  will  draw  himself  to  all  God's  friends  and 
c-ount  them  brothers,  rejoicing  with  them  in  the  fellowship 
of  the  common  \o^  e.  He  will  set  himself,  in  every  man- 
ner, to  strengthen,  comfort,  edify,  stimulate  them  in  their 
fidelity  and  application  to  good  works.     All  this  he  will 


394  HE    THA        KNOWS    GOD 

io  b};  the  simple  instinct  of  his  love  to  God.  If  there 
wore  no  sacli  thing  enjoined  upon  the  disciples  of  Christ, 
as  a  forma  ■  profession,  or  church  organization,  there  would 
yd  be  generated,  within  six  months,  exactly  the  same 
lliiiig.  The  disciples  would  come  out  of  the  world  in  a 
body,  testifying  what  God  has  done  for  them  in  the  quick- 
ening grace  of  Christ  shed  abroad  in  their  hearts,  and 
claiming  their  fellowship  with  each  other.  As  our 
fathers  in  the  Mayflower  bound  themselves  in  a  kind  of 
civil  covenant  on  their  passage,  they  would  band  them- 
selves together  in  holy  covenant  before  God,  to  co-operate 
m  a  form  of  spiritual  order, — a  church.  They  would 
have  their  officers  and  leaders.  They  would  watch  for 
each  other.  They  would  have  terms  adjusted  by  which 
to  separate  themselves  from  hypocrites  and  impostors, — all 
ihat  we  now  have  in  our  formal  polities  and  church  com- 
[)acts.  Co-operation  is  the  strength  of  such  as  have  a  com- 
mon cause,  and  organization  is  the  certain  requisite  of  this. 
In  this  way  the  followers  of  Jesus  must  and  will  be  set  in 
solid  phalanx,  to  co-operate  in  the  maintenance  of  their 
common  cause. 

This  matter  of  professing  Christ  appears  to  be  regarded 
by  many  as  a  kind  of  optional  duty.  Just  as  optional  as 
it  is  for  light  to  shine,  or  goodness  to  be  good,  or  joy  to 
sing,  or  gratitude  to  give  thanks,  or  love  to  labor  and 
sacrifice  for  its  ends.  No !  my  friends,  there  is  no  option 
here,  save  as  all  duties  are  optional  and  eternity  hangs  on 
iiie  option  we  make.  Let  no  one  of  you  receive  or  allow 
a  different  thought.  Expect  to  be  open,  outstanding  wit- 
nesses for  God,  and  rejoice  to  be.  In  ready  and  gloriou? 
option,  take  3'our  part  with  such,  and  stifle  indignantlj 
any  lurking  thought  of  being  a  secret  follcwei. 


WILL    CONFESS    HIM.  395 

Following  in  the  same  train,  we  notice,  agfiin,  what  value 
there  may  be  in  discoveries  of  christian  experience,  and 
the  legitimate  use  they  may  have  in  christian  society 
Some  of  the  best  and  holiest  impulses  ever  given  to  the 
cause  of  God  in  men's  hearts  are  given  by  testimonies  of 
christian    experience.      Like   all   other   things,    they  are 
capable  of  abuse.     They  may  run  to  a  really  pitiful  con- 
ceit, being  not  only  misconceived  by  the  subjects  them- 
selves, but  even  made  a  gospel  of  and  thrust  forward,  on 
occasions  where  they  are  out  of  place  and  against  all  holy 
proprieties.     Still  there  will  be  times,  more  or  less  private, 
when  the  humblest  and  weakest  disciples  can  speak  of 
what  God  has  done  for  them,  with  the  very  best  effect. 
Nor  is  there  any  thing  so  unpractical  and  destitute  of 
christian  respect  as  the  shyness  of  some  fastidious  people 
in  this  matter.     It  never  exists  in  a  truly  manly  character, 
or  in  connection  with  a  full-toned,  living  godliness.     That 
will  be  no  such  dainty  affair.     It  will  speak  out.     It  will 
declare  what  God  has  done,  and  show  the  method  by  which 
be  works.     The  new  joy  felt  will  be  a  new  song  in  the 
mouth,  and  every  new  deliverance  will  be  fitly,  gratefully 
confessed.    There  will  be  no  shallow  affectation  of  delicacy 
shuttmg  the  lips  and  sealing  them  in  a  forced  dumbness,  a? 
if  the  righteousness  of  God  had  been  taken  by  a  deed  ol 
larceny.    How  often  will  two  disciples  help  and  strengthen 
each  other  by  showing,  each  the  other,  in  what  way  God 
has  led  him,  what  his  struggles  have  been,  and  where  his 
victories.     And,  if  there  should  be  three  or  four  included, 
or  ]iossibly,  and  in  fit  cases,  more,  a  whole  church,  what  ia 
there  to  blame  ?     They  spake  often,  one  to  another,  says 
the  prophet,  and  God  hearkened  and  heard  it.     God  list- 
t;Ti<i  for  nothing  so  tenderly  as  when  his  children  hel])  eacl 


396  HE    THAT    KNOWS    GOD 

other  by  their  testimonies  to  his  goodness  and  the  way  ii 
which  he  has  brought  them  deliverance.  Besides  there  ig 
a  higher  view  of  these  personal  testimonies  and  confessions. 
All  these  experiences,  or  life-histories  of  the  faithful,  wilj 
be  among  the  grandest  studies  and  most  glorious  revela- 
tions of  the  future, — a  spiritual  epic  of  wars,  and  defeats, 
and  falls,  and  victories,  and  wondrous  turns  of  deliverance, 
and  unseen  ministries  of  God  and  angels,  that,  when  they 
are  opened  to  the  saints,  will  furnish  the  sublimest  of  all 
their  discoveries  of  Christ  and  of  God,  Exactly  as  an 
apostle  intimates  in  those  most  hopeful,  inspiring  words  of 
hiy, — When  he  shall  come  to  be  glorified  in  his  saints,  and 
to  be  admired  in  all  them  that  believe.  May  he  not  be 
glorified  in  them  here,  and,  in  some  feebler  measure,  ad- 
mired for  the  testimonies  yielded  by  their  experience,  as 
their  warfare  goes  on. 

And  now,  last  of  all,  let  this  one  thing  be  impressed; 
for  every  thing  I  have  been  saying  leads  to  this,  that  the 
true  wisdom,  in  all  these  matters  of  holy  experience,  is  to 
act  naturally.  If  you  seem  to  yourself  to  have  really 
passed  from  death  unto  life,  and  to  have  come  into  God's 
peace,  interpose  no  affectations  of  modesty,  .no  restric- 
tions of  mock  prudence,  but  in  true  natural  modesty 
and  a  sound  natural  discretion,  testify  the  grace  you 
have  received.  Take  upon  you  promptly  every  duty, 
enter  the  church,  obey  the  command  of  Christ,  in  the  con- 
fession of  his  name  and  the  piblic  remembrance  of  hia 
iloath.  O,  if  we  could  get  rid  of  so  many  affectations  in 
religion,  and  so  many  unnatural,  artificial  wisdoms,  how 

any  more  real  Christians  would  there  be,  and  these  how 
better  and  heartiei      How  raanv  are  there  in  ouj 


"WILL    CONFESS    HIM.  897 

christian  commimities  that  are  iving  afar  off  and  appa- 
rently quite  inaccessible,  who.  if,  at  a  certain  time  in  their 
life,  they  had  gone  forward  and  taken  the  places  to  which 
they  were  called,  would  now  be  among  the  shining  mem- 
bers of  the  great  body  of  saints.  And  how  many  in  ihe 
church  cripple  themselves  and  all  but  extinguish  their  life, 
by  allowing  nothing  good  or  right  in  them  to  be  naturally 
acted  out.  They  stifle  every  beginning  of  grace  by  theii 
over-persistent  handling,  scrutinizing,  and  testing  of  it. 
They  read  Edwards  on  the  Affections,  it  may  be,  till  their 
affections  are  all  worn  out  and  killed  by  so  much  jealousy 
of  them,  when,  if  only  they  could  give  them  breath  in  the 
open  life  of  duty  and  sacrifice,  they  would  flame  up  in  the 
soul  as  heavenly  fires,  indubitable  and  irrepressible. 

If  any  of  you,  eitlier  out  of  the  church  or  in,  have  lost 
ground  in  these  artificial  and  restrictive  ways,  come  back 
at  once  to  your  losing  point  and  consent  to  be  natural;  tc 
act  out  whatever  grace  God  will  give  you,  and,  when  you 
arc  conscious  of  his  love  to  you,  or  liis  new  creating  pre- 
sence and  peace  in  your  heart,  be  as  ready  to  trust  your  con- 
sciousness as  you  are  the  consciousness  that  you  think,  or 
doubt,  or  do  any  thing  else.  In  a  word,  do  not  hide  thu 
righteousness  of  God  in  your  heart,  lest  you  make  a  tomb 
of  your  heart  and  bury  it  there.'  Go  forward  and  act  out 
naturally,  testify  freely,  live  openly,  the  grace  that  is  in 

you. 

Thus  it  was,  I  have  already  said,  with  the  sturdy  war- 
riors of  the  faith  in  the  first  ages  of  the  church.  They 
were  men  wh>-)  took  the  grace  in  them  as  a  call.  The 
love  that  broke  into  their  hearts  burned  up  all  their  false 
modesty.  Their  humble  position  was  exalted  by  the  faitb 
of  Jegus,  and  they  stood  forth  in  »•!  the  singularity  of  i\x^ 

34 


308  HE    THAT    KNOWS    GOT). 

crosy,  cowed  by  no  superiors,  daunted  by  no  perilt'.  vloil 
made  them  heroes  by  simply  making  them  natural^  and 
the  time  of  Christly  heroism  will  never  be  restored,  till 
men  can  take  their  lives  in  their  hands  and  go  forth,  in 
downright  good  faith,  to  follow  their  Master,  acting  out 
tlic  spirio  he  has  kindled  in  them,  and  testifying  to  man- 
kind the  riches  of  the  grace  they  have  found  in  his  gospel 
Wliat  we  want,  above  all  things,  in  this  age,  is  heartinesa 
and  holy  simplicity;  men  who  justify  the  holy  impulse 
of  grace  in  their  hearts,  and  do  not  keep  it  back  by  artifi- 
cial clogs  of  pradence  and  false  fear,  or  the  sham  pretenses 
of  fastidiousness  and  artificial  delicacy.  These  are  they 
whom  God  will  make  his  witnesses  in  all  ages.  They 
dare  to  be  hoi}",  dare  just  as  readily  to  be  singular.  What 
God  puts  in  them  that  they  accept,  and  when  he  puts  a 
song,  they  sing  it.  They  know  Christ  inwardly,  and 
th(?refore  stand  for  him  outwardly.  They  endure  hard- 
ness. They  fight  a  fight.  And  these  are  the  souls,  m}; 
brethren,  who  shall  stand  before  God  accepted.  And  we 
shall  be  accepted  as  we  stand  with  them., — otherwise  never. 
It  will  be  a  gathering  of  the  true  soldiers,  a  gathering  of 
them  that  have  made  sacrifices,  conquered  perils,  and  lived 
their  open  testimony  for  God  and  his  Son.  They  will 
come  in  covered  with  their  dust  and  scars,  and  Christ  vvil] 
CTown  them,  as  heroes  that  have  stood  and  kept  theii 
Rimor.  And  then  how  deep  and  piercing  are  those  words 
,'if  his,- -will  they  slay  us  forever,  or  will  they  make  us 
alive?- -"Whosoever,  therefore,  shall  confess  me  before 
men,  l-im  ^ill  I  also  confess  before  my  Father,  which  is  iu 
heaven.  But,  whosoever  shall  deny  me  before  men.  hiuj 
wiW  I  also  deny  befoie  my  Fathe-',  which  is  in  heaver.. 


XXI. 

THE    EFFICIENCY    OF  THE  PASSIVE  VIRTU  KB. 

Kevelations  i.  9. — "2^Ae  kingdom  and  patience  of  Jeaiu 
Christ"' 

Kingdom  and  patience!  a  very  singular  conjunction  of 
rerms  to  say  the  least ;  as  if,  in  Jesus  Christ  were  made 
compatible,  authority  and  suffering,  the  impassive  throne 
of  a  monarch  and  the  meek  subjection  of  a  cross,  the 
reigning  power  of  a  prince  and  the  mild  endurance  of  a 
lamb.  What  more  striking  paradox.  And  yet  in  this 
you  have  exactly  that  which  is  the  prime  distinction  of 
Christianity.  It  is  a  kingdom  erected  by  patience.  It 
reigns  in  virtue  of  submission.  Its  victory  and  dominion 
arc  the  fruits  of  a  most  peculiar  and  singular  endurance. 
I  sa}'^  the  fruits  of  endurance,  and  by  this  I  mean,  not  the 
reward,  but  the  proper  results  or  effects  of  endurance. 
(;hrist  reigns  over  human  souls  and  in  them,  erecting  there 
his  spiritual  kingdom  not  by  force  of  will  exerted  in  any 
way,  but  through  his  most  sublime  passivity  in  yielding 
himself  to  the  wrongs  and  the  malice  of  his  adversaries. 
And  with  him,  in  this  most  remarkable  peculiarity,  all 
disciples  are  called  to  be  partakers ;  even  as  the  apostle  in 
his  exile  at  Patmos  writes, — I  John,  who  also  am  your 
brother  and  companion  in  tribulation,  and  in  the  kingdorr 
.<md  patience  of  Jesus.  I  offer  it  accordingly  to  your  con- 
sideration, as  a  kind  of  first  principle  in  a  good  life,  whicli 
it  will  be  the  object  of  my  discourse  to  illustrate-- 


400  THE    EFFICIEKCY    OV 

That  the  passive  elemf-nts^  or  graces  of  the  Christian  life 
well  inaintainedj  are  quite  as  efficient  and  fruitful  as  the  active 

It  is  not  my  design,  of  course,  to  discourage,  or  restr-nTi 
wiiat  are  called  active  works  in  religion.  Christ  liiinself 
*was  active  beyond  almost  any  human  example.  All  great 
and  true  servants  of  God  have  been  men  of  industry,  and 
of  earnest  and  strenuous  application  to  works  of  duty.  I 
only  design  to  exhibit  what  many  are  so  apt  to  overlook 
or  forget,  the  sublime  efficacy  of  those  virtues  which  be- 
long to  the  receiving,  suffering,  patient  side  of  character. 
They  are  such  as  meekness,  gentleness,  forbearance,  ior 
giveness,  the  endurance  of  wrong  without  anger  and  re- 
sentment, contentment,  quietness,  peace,  and  unambitious 
love.  These  all  belong  to  the  more  passive  side  of  char- 
acter and  are  included,  or  may  be,  in  the  general  and  com- 
prehensive term  patience.  What  I  design  is  to  show  that 
these  are  never  barren  virtues,  as  some  are  apt  to  imagine, 
but  are  often  the  most  efhcient  and  most  operative  powei's 
that  a  true  Christian  wields ;  inasmuch  as  they  caaT}^  j  ust 
that  kind  of  influence,  which  other  men  are  least  apt  and 
least  able  to  resist. 

We  too  commonly  take  up  the  impression  chat  power  ia 
measured  by  exertion ;  that  we  are  effective  because  sim- 
ply of  what  we  do,  or  the  noise  we  make;  consequently 
that,  when  we  are  not  in  exertion  of  some  kind,  we  are 
not  accomplishing  any  thing;  and  that  if  we  are  too 
humble,  or  poor,  or  infirm,  to  be  engaged  in  great  works 
and  projects,  there  is  really  nothing  for  us  to  do,  and  we 
are  living  to  no  purpose.  This  very  gross  and  whollj 
mistaken  impression  I  wish  to  remove,  by  showing  that  a 
right  jiassivity  is  sometimes  the  greatest  and  most  effectivp 


THE    PASSIVE     VIRTUES.  401 

Chrislian  power,  and  that  if  we  are  brothers  and  conipai^ 
ions  iu  tlie  kingdom  and  patienee  of  Jesus,  we  are  likely 
to  fulfill  the  highest  conception  of  the  Christian  life.     Ob- 
serve then — 

First  of  all,  that  the  passive  and  submissive  virtues  are 
most  of  all  remote  from  the  exercise,  or  attainment  of 
those  who  are  out  of  the  Christian  spirit  and  the  life  of 
faith.  All  men  are  able  to  be  active.  Most  men  do  exeri 
themselves  in  works  that  are  really  useful.  A  vast  multi- 
tude of  the  race  have  excelled  in  forms  of  active  pov/er 
that  are  commonly  called  virtuous,  without  any  thought  of 
religion.  They  have  been  great  inventors,  discoverers, 
teachers,  law-givers,  risked  their  life,  or  willingly  yielded 
it  up  in  the  fields  of  war  for  the  defense  of  their  country, 
or  the  conquest  of  liberty,  worn  out  every  energy  of  mind 
and  body,  in  the  advancement  of  great  human  interests. 
Indeed  it  is  commonly  not  difficult  for  men  to  be  active  oi 
even  bravely  so ;  but  when  j^ou  come  to  the  passive  or 
receiving  side  of  life,  here  they  fail.  To  bear  evil  and 
wrong,  to  forgive,  to  suffer  no  resentment  under  injury,  to 
be  gentle  when  nature  burns  with  a  fierce  heat,  and  pride 
clamors  for  redress,  to  restrain  envy,  to  bear  defeat  with  a 
firm  and  peaceful  mind,  not  to  be  vexed  or  fretted  by  cares, 
losses,  or  petty  injuries,  to  abide  in  contentment  and  se- 
renity of  spirit,  when  trouble  and  disappointment  come — ■ 
these  are  conquests,  alas  how  difficult  to  most  of  as!  Ac- 
cordingly it  will  be  seen  that  a  true  Christian  man  is  dis- 
tinguished from  other  men,  not  so  much  by  hh  beneficent 
works,  as  by  his  patience.  In  this  he  most  excels  and 
rises  highest  above  the  mere  natural  virtue?  of  tbc  W'rlcj 
Just  here  it  is  that  he  is  Icokeil  upon  as  a  pc'diui    -xiic 


l02  THE    EFFICIENCY    OF 

ptiituilly  divine  character.  The  motives  seem  to  be  i 
nivstery.  What  can  set  a  man  to  the  suffering  ot'  cvi! 
and  wrong  with  such  a  spirit?  Thought  lingers  quesrion 
ing  round  him,  asking  for  the  secret  of  this  mysterioiUN 
passivity.  Even  if  it  be  derided  there  is  yet  felt  to  be  u 
something  great  in  it ;  truly  he  is  another  kind  of  mac 
and  not  of  us,  is  the  feeling  of  all  who  are  not  in  Christ 
with  him.  By  this  he  will  be  seen  and  felt  to  belong  to  a 
distinct  order  of  being  and  character.  He  is  set  off  by  his 
patience,  to  be  a  brother  and  companion  in  the  kingdom 
and  patience  of  Jesus. 

Consider  also  more  distinctly  the  immense  power  of 
principle  that  is  necessary  to  establish  the  soul  in  these 
virtues  of  endurance  and  patience.  Here  is  no  place  foi 
ambition,  no  stimulus  of  passion,  such  as  makes  even 
cowards  brave  in  the  field.  Here  are  no  exploits  to  be 
carried,  no  applauses  of  the  multitude  to  be  won.  The 
disciple  knowing  that  God  forgives  and  waits,  wants  to  be 
like  him ;  knowing  that  he  has  nothing  himself  to  boast 
of  but  the  shame  of  a  sinner,  wants  to  be  nothing,  and , 
})refers  to  suffer  and  crucify  his  resentments,  and  since 
God  would  not  contend  with  him,  will  not  contend  with 
those  who  do  him  injur}^  He  gets  the  power  of  his  pa- 
tience wholly  from  above.  It  is  not  human,  it  is  divine. 
Hence  the  impossibility  of  it  even  to  great  men.  Napo- 
leon, for  example,  had  the  active  powers  in  such  vigor, 
that  he  made  the  w^hole  civilized  world  shake  with  dread. 
Bat  when  he  came  to  the  place  where  true  greatness  con- 
sisted only  in  patience,  that  was  too  great  for  him.  Just 
where  any  Christian  woman  woul  I  have  shone  forth  in  the 
true  radiance  and  sublimity  of  an  all-victorious  patience, 


THE    PASSIVE    VIUTUES.  403 

he,  the  conqueror  of  empires,  broke  clown  into  fi  peovishj 
fretful,  irritable  temper,  and  losing  thus,  at  once,  all  dig- 
nity and  composure  of  soul,  died  before  his  time,  because 
he  had  been  resolved  into  a  mere  compost  of  faculty  by 
the  ferment  of  his  ungoverned  passions.  On  tlie  other 
hand,  we  have  in  Socrates  an  illustrious  example  of  the 
dignity  and  sac]"ed  grande  .ir  of  patience.  The  good  spirit 
or  genius  he  spoke  of  as  being  ever  with  him,  was,  in  fact, 
the  teacher  of  this  noble  and  truly  divine  submission  to 
wrong.  It  wears  no  merely  human  look,  and  the  world 
of  all  subsequent  ages  have  been  made  to  feel  that  here  ig 
a  certain  sublimity  of  virtue,  which  sets  the  man  apart  from 
all  the  great  men  of  proftine  histoiy.  No  ancient  charac- 
ter stands  with  him.  He  is  felt  to  be  a  kind  of  sacred 
man  who,  by  means  of  his  wonderful  passivity  to  wrong, 
and  Ins  gentleness  toward  his  enemies,  is  set  quite  above 
his  kind,  revealing  as  it  were,  the  gift  of  some  higher  na- 
ture. You  perceive  in  his  example  that  the  passive  virtues 
both  involve  and  express  a  higher  range  of  principles; 
hence  they  are  necessary  to  all  highest  character  in.  the 
active.  Wc  can  act  out  of  the  human,  but  to  suffer  well, 
requires  a  participation  of  what  is  divine.  Hence  the 
impression  of  greatness  and  sublimity  which  all  men  feel 
in  the  contemplation  of  that  energy  which  is  itself  ener- 
gized by  a  self-sacrificing  and  suffering  patience,  And 
accordingly  there  is  no  power  over  the  human  soul  an<"J 
character  so  effective  and  so  nearly  irresistible  as  this. 

Notice  again,  yet  more  distinctly,  what  will  add  a  yvA 
more  conchisive  evidence,  how  it  is  chiefly  by  this  endur 
atice  of  evil,  that  Christ,  as  a  Redeemer,  prevails  agaiiisl 
Lhe  fin  of  the  human  heart  and  subdues  its  enmitv-     JiLsi 


*04  THE    EFFICIENCY    OP 

upon  the  eve  of  what  we  call  his  passion,  he  says,  in  vis- 
ible trmraph,  to  his  disciples, — "the  prince  of  this  world 
is  judged;"  as  if  the  kingdom  of  evil  were  now  to  be 
crushed  and  his  own  new  kingdom  established,  by  some 
terrible  bolt  of  judgment  falling  on  his  adversaries.  It 
was  even  so  ;  and  that  bolt  of  judgment  was  the  passion  of 
the  ci'oss.  We  had  never  seen  before  the  sublime  passivi- 
ties of  God's  character,  and  his  ability  to  endure  the  mad- 
ness of  evil.  We  had  seen  him  in  the  smoke  and  heard 
^im  in  the  thunders  of  Sinai.  We  had  felt  his  judg- 
ments, we  had  trembled  under  his  frown,  we  had  seen  the 
active  management  and  sway  of  his  Providence.  But 
now  in  the  cross,  we  see  him  bearing  wrong,  receiving 
the  shafts  of  human  enmity,  submitting  himself,  in 
his  sublime  patience,  to  the  fury  of  the  disobedi- 
ent, and  so,  melting  down  by  his  gentleness  wliat 
no  terrors  could  intimidate,  and  no  frowns  of  judgment 
could  subdue.  Thus  our  blessed  Redeemer  made  himself 
a  king  and  set  up  a  kingdom.  It  is  the  kingdom  of  his 
patience.  When  law  was  broken,  and  all  the  supports  of 
authority  set  up  by  God's  majesty  were  quite  torn  away, 
God  brought  forth  a  power,  greater  than  law,  greater  than 
majesty,  even  the  power  of  his  patience  and  by  this  be 
broke  forever  the  spirit  of  evil  in  the  world.  The  sinner 
could  laugh  at  God's  thunders  and  stiffen  himself  against 
all  the  activities  of  his  omnipotent  rule,  when  exerted  tc: 
abase  and  humble  him,  but  when  he  looks  upon  the  crosi: 
of  Jesus,  and  beholds  the  patience  of  God's  love  and 
tnercj,  th^n  he  relents  and  becomes  a  child.  The  new- 
creating  grace  of  Christianity  is  scarcely  more,  in  fact, 
than  a  divine  application  of  the  principle,  that  when  noth 
ing  else  can  subdue  an  enemy,  patience  sometimes  will. 


THE    PASSIVE    VIRTU  BS.  405 

Again,  it  is  important  to  notice  that  men,  as  being  undet 
au,  arc  set  against  all  active  efforts  to  turn  them,  or  per- 
Buade  them,  but  never  against  that  which  implies  no  effort; 
viz.,  the  gentle  virtues  of  patience.  We  are  naturally 
jealous  of  control  by  any  method  which  involves  a  fixed 
de.'iigu  to  e:xert  control  over  us :  therefore  we  are  always 
Oil  our  guard  in  this  direction.  But  we  are  none  the  les,? 
open,  at  all  times,  to  the  power  of  silent  worth,  and  the 
unpretending  goodness  of  those  virtues  that  are  included 
in  patience.  If  a  man  is  seen  to  live  in  content,  and  keep 
a  mind  unruftled  by  vexation,  under  great  calamities  and 
irritating  wrongs,  we  have  no  guard  set  against  that,  we 
almost  like  to  be  swayed  by  such  a  kind  of  power.  In- 
deed we  should  not  have  a  good  opinion  of  ourselves,  if 
we  did  not  admire  such  an  example  and  praise  it.  And 
in  just  this  way  it  happens,  that  many  a  proud  and  willful 
soul  will  resist  the  most  eloquent  sermon,  and  will  th('U 
be  completely  subdued  and  melted  by  the  heavenly  seren- 
ity and  patience  of  a  sick  woman.  For  a  similar  reason, 
all  the  submissive  forms  of  excellence  have  an  immense 
advantage.  They  provoke  no  opposition,  because  they  are 
not  pui  forth  for  us,  but  for  their  own  sake.  They  fix  our 
admiration  therefore,  win  our  homage,  and  melt  into  our 
feeling.  They  move  us  the  more,  because  they  do  not 
attempt  to  move  us.  They  are  silent,  empty  of  all  power 
but  that  which  lies  in  their  goodness,  and  for  just  that  rea 
sou  they  are  among  the  greatest  powers  that  Christiaaily 
wields. 

Once  more  it  is  important  for  every  man,  when  he  will 
cant  the  balance  between  the  powers  of  action  and  of  pas* 
tion  or  when  he  will  discover  the  real  effectiveness  of  pa?' 


406  THE    EFFICIENCY    OF 

sive  good,  to  refer  to  his  own  consciousness.  See  ho-w 
little  impj  ession  is  often  made  upon  you,  by  the  most ' 
strenuous  efforts  to  exert  influence  over  you,  and  thcij 
hoTV  often  you  are  swayed  by  feelings  of  respect,  rever- 
ence, .'xlmiration,  tenderness,  from  the  simple  observation 
of  one  who  suffers  well ;  receiving  injury  without  resent- 
ment, gilding  the  lot  of  poverty  and  privation  with  a 
spirit  of  contentment  and  of  filial  trust  in  God ;  forgiving, 
gentle,  unresisting,  peaceful,  and  strong  under  great  storma 
of  affliction.  How  gently  do  these  lovely  powers  of  pa- 
tience  insinuate  themselves  into  your  respect  and  love. 
When  some  palpable  assault  of  active  endeavor,  su(ih  as 
argument,  advice,  or  exhortation,  besieges  you,  how  in- 
stinctively do  you  harden  yourself  against  it,  and  offei 
yourself  to  it  as  a  wall  to  be  battered  down  if  it  can  be. 
But  when  you  see  a  Christian  suffer  well,  strong  in  adver- 
sity, calm  and  ha])py  in  days  of  trouble,  smiling  on  through 
months  of  pain,  in  a  spirit  of  unmurmuring  patience,  con- 
tented with  a  hard  lot  of  poverty  and  outward  discour- 
agement, how  ready  are  you  to  feel  the  power  of  such 
examples,  how  welcome  are  they,  as  faces  of  blessing,  to  n 
place  in  your  mind,  and  how  often  do  they  bend  you,  bj 
their  sacred  power,  to  better  purposes  of  life,  that  could 
not  be  extorted  by  any  more  obtrusive  means.  Let  every 
Christian  carefully  observe  his  own  consciousness  here, 
^nd  he  will  be  in  the  least  possible  danger  of  dis-cstecming 
patience,  as  a  barren  or  sterile  virtue,  or  of  looking  upon 
effort  and  action  as  the  only  operative  and  fruitful  Christian 
powers. 

Let  us  notice  now  m  conclusion,  some  of  the  insir  icLJve 
and  practical  uses  of  the  truth  illustrated.     And 


THE    PASSIVE    VIRTUES  107 

1.  It  is  lie/e  tliat  Christianity  makes  issue  with  the 
vrt  ole  world  on  the  question  of  human  greatness.  That 
is  ever  loolced  on  by  mankind  and  spoken  of  as  greatness, 
which  displays  some  form  of  active  power.  The  soldier, 
tlie  statesman,  the  inventor,  the  orator,  the  reformer,  the 
poet — all  great  thinkers  and  doers,  by  whom,  as  mighty 
nsn  and  men  of  .renown,  great  masses  of  people  or  even 
nations  are  swayed  in  their  opinionsi,  or  their  history,  or 
profoundly  moved  and  ])re[)ared  to  tlieir  fiiture--are 
taken  as  examples  of  the  most  real  and  highest  form  of 
greatness.  It  has  never  entered  into  human  thought,  un- 
Banctilied  by  religion,  that  there  is  or  can  be  any  such 
thing  as  greatness  in  the  mere  passive  virtues,  or  in  sim- 
ply suffering  well;  least  of  all  in  suffering  wrong  and  evil 
with  a  forgiving,  unresentful  spirit.  Christianity  is  here 
alone,  holding  it  forth  as  being,  when  required,  the 
divinest,  sublimest  and  most  powerful  of  all  virtues  to 
suffer  well.  Even  the  summits  of  deiiic  excellence  and 
glory  it  reveals,  by  the  endurance  of  enemies,  and  the  bit- 
ter pangs  of  a  cross  accepted  for  their  good.  It  works  out 
the  recovery  of  transgressors  by  the  transforming  power  of 
sacrifice.  And  so  it  establishes  a  kingdom,  which  is  itself 
the  reign  of  the  patience  of  Jesus.  The  whole  plan  cen- 
ters in  this  one  principle,  that  the  suffering  side  of  char- 
acter has  a  power  of  its  own,  superior,  in  some  respects,  to 
the  most  active  endeavors.  And  in  this  it  prov^es  its  ori- 
ginality by  standing  quite  alone.  The  Stoics  appear  1o 
nave  had  a  dim  apprehension  that  something  of  this  liind 
might  be  true,  but  the  patience  they  inculcated  vras  that 
of  the  will  and  not  the  patience  of  lov(!  and  trust.  Il  was 
in  fact,  obstinacy,  without  any  consent  to  suffering  at  ail ; 
a  will  hardening  itself  into  flint;  a  sensibility  Jeadcnou 


408  THE    EFFICIENCV     OF 

Ijy  assumed  apathy ;  and  all  th.  s  in  tlie  proud  deterinina 
tion  to  be  sufficient  against  all  tlie  evils  of  this  life.  It  wag 
not  suffering  well  tlierefore,  but  refusing  to  suffer,  and,  in 
tbat  view,  was  a  most  active  and  strenuous  form  of  effort, 
And  there  v/as  a  certain  greatness  in  this  we  can  not  deny, 
though  it  was  only  a  mock-moral  greatness  and  not  that 
Lriie  heaven-descended  greatness,  which  belongs  to  Chrif 
tian  charity.  To  say — Let  patience  have  her  perlect  work 
that  ye  may  be  perfect  and  entire,  wanting  nothing ;  to  un- 
derstand that  character  is  even  consummated  in  these  pas- 
sive virtues — this  could  only  be  taught  by  the  gospel  of 
the  cross.  And  j'-et  how  manifestly  true  it  is,  when  once 
it  is  seen  in  such  an  example  as  that  of  Jesus,  that  a  suf 
fering  love  is  the  highest  conceivable  form  of  greatness. 

2.  The  office  of  the  Christian  martyrs  is  here  explained. 
We  look  back  upon  the  long  ages  of  woe,  the  martyr  ages 
of  the  church,  and  we  behold  a  vast  array  of  active  gen- 
ius and  power,  that  could  not  be  permitted  to  spend  itself 
in  works  of  benefaction  to  the  race,  but  was  consecrated 
of  Grod  to  the  more  sacred  and  more  fruitful  grace  of  suf- 
fering. The  design  was,  it  would  seem,  to  prepare  a 
Chriatly  past,  to  show  whole  ages  of  faith  populated  with 
mea  who  were  able,  coming  after  their  Master  and  bearing 
hiii  cross,  to  suffer  with  him  and  add  their  human  testi- 
mony to  his.  And  they  overcame  by  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb,  a^id  by  the  word  of  their  testimony,  and  they  loved 
cot  Iheir  lives  unto  the  death.  And  so  it  has  been  ordered 
that  the  church  of  God  shall  know  itself  to  be  the  child 
of  suffering  patience.  The  scholars,  the  preachers,  all  the 
g]  eat  and  noted  characters,  who  have  served  the  shurch 
by  thei]'  labors,  pass  iuto  shade;  we  think  little  of  th(3m, 
bat  the  men  oi  patience,  the  holy  martyrs,  these  we  fee] 


THE    PASSIVE    VIRTUES.  409 

as  a  sac:''ed  flitlierhood,  charging  it,  O  how  seriously  and 
filially  upon  our  souls,  to  be  followers  of  them,  who  through 
Aiith  and  patience  inherit  the  promises.  Who  that  feels 
the  power  of  these  martyr  ages  descending  on  him,  can 
3ver  tliink,  even  for  a  moment,  that  the  passive  virtues  of 
the  Christian  life  ai'e  sterile  virtaes,  and  that  action  is  tliG 
only  fruitful  thing. 

3.  "\A'e  see  in  this  subject,  how  it  is  that  many  persc^ag 
are  so  abundantly  active  in  religion,  with  so  little  effect ; 
while  others  who  are  not  conspicuous  in  action  accompli^'h 
30  much.  The  reason,  is,  that  one  class  trust  mainly  to  the 
virtues  of  action,  while  the  others  unite  also  the  virtues 
of  patience.  One  class  is  brother  and  companion  in  the 
kingdom  and  works  of  Jesus,  the  other  in  the  kingdom 
and  patience  of  Jesus.  Accordingly  there  is  something 
of  the  same  distinction  between  them,  that  there  is  between 
John  the  P)a})tist  and  the  Saviour,  as  regards  the  extent 
and  the  subduing,  permanent  quality  of  their  efiects, 
ThuLi  a  man  may  be  very  active  in  warnings,  exhortations, 
public  praj  ers,  plans  of  beneficence,  contributions  of  time 
and  money,  and  it  may  seem,  when  you  look  upon  him, 
that  he  is  going  to  produce  immense  effects  by  his  life. 
But  suppose  him  to  be  very  much  of  a  stranger  to  the  pa- 
tient virtues  of  Christ — railing  at  adversaries,  blowing 
blasts  of  scorn  upon  those  whom  he  wishes  to  reform  in 
their  practices,  impetuous,  willful,  irritable,  hot, — how 
much  good  is  that  man  going  to  do  by  all  his  activity  V 
What  can  he  do  but  to  irritate  and  vex  and.  as  far  as  ho 
is  concerned,  render  the  very  name  of  religion  or  possibly 
of  Christ  himself,  odious.  Or  suppose  him  to  be  a  petu- 
lant neighbor,  or  a  harsh  and  passionate  man  to  persons  in 
his  employ,   resentful  and   retaliatory  against  those  who 

3d 


410  THE    EFFICIENCY    OF 

yrosa  him  in  his  interests,  fretful  and  stormnig  always  with 
impatience,  when  providences  do  not  work  rightly,  or  whcE 
other  men  do  not  exactly  fulfill  their  duties,  or  engage- 
)nonts.  How  manifest  is  it  that  such  a  man  will  do  little, 
or  nothing,  by  his  religious  activity.  The  difference  be^ 
tYieen  him  and  a  right-minded,  healthy  Christian,  is  the 
same  as  between  Jehu  and  Jesus.  So  the  woman  who  ia 
zealous  in  the  street,  busy  ever  in  the  works  of  active 
charity,  but  ill-natured  and  fretful  in  her  house,  impatienl 
with  her  children,  given  to  harsh  words  and  bitter  con 
structions  upon  the  character  of  othei'S,  implacable  in  hei 
resentment  of  supposed  injuries,  jealous,  envious — what 
can  she  accomplish  by  any  possible  degree  of  activity? 
And  ho¥/  many  are  there  in  the  churches  who  are  really 
forward  in  all  good  works,  but  are  continually  thwarting 
all  effect  and  reducing  the  value  of  their  efforts  as  nearly 
to  nothing  as  possible,  by  just  such  defects  of  passive 
goodness  as  some  of  these  which  I  have  named. 

On  the  other  hand,  have  you  never  observed  the  im- 
mense power  exerted  by  many  Christian  men  and  women, 
whose  lives  are  passed  in  comparative  silence?  You  know 
not  how  it  is,  they  seem  to  be  really  doing  little,  and  yet 
they  are  felt  by  thousands.  And  the  secret  of  this  won- 
der is  that  they  know  how  to  suffer  well — they  are  in  the 
patience  of  Jesus.  They  will  not  resent  evil,  or  think 
evil.  They  are  not  easily  provoked.  They  are  content 
with  their  lot,  though  it  be  a  lot  of  poverty  and  affliction. 
They  will  not  be  envious  of  others.  When  they  are 
v7ronged  they  remember  Christ  and  forgive,  when  opposed 
and  thwarted,  they  endure  and  wait.  They  live  in  an 
element  of  composure  and  sweetness,  and  can  not  be  irri- 
tated and  fretted  by  men,  becau.-^  they  are  so  nvjch  witb 


THE    PASSIVE     VIRTUES.  411 

God,  and  so  ready  to  bear  the  cross  of  his  Son,  tliat  hu 
man  wrongs  and  judgments  have  little  power  to  unsettle 
or  disturb  them.  Now  before  these  a  continual  flood  of 
ihluence  wiT  be  continually  rolling.  Their  gentleness  i.s 
stronger  than  the  onsets  and  assaults  of  other  men.  Tlio} 
are  in  the  kingdom  of  Jesus  reigning  with  him,  becau>5f 
thej'  are  with  him  in  his  patience. 

4.  The  reason  why  we  have  so  many  crosses,  trials, 
wrongs,  and  pains,  is  here  made  evident.  We  have  not 
one  too  many  for  the  successful  culture  of  our  faith.  I'^hc 
great  thing,  and  that  which  it  is  most  of  all  difficult  to  pro- 
duce in  us,  is  a  participation  of  Christ's  forgiving  gentle- 
ness and  patience.  This,  if  we  can  learn  it,  is  the  most  diffi- 
cult and  the  most  distiiictively  christian  of  all  attainments. 
Therefore  we  need  a  continual  discipline  of  occasions; 
poverty,  sickness,  bereavements,  losses,  treacheries,  mis- 
representations, oppressions,  persecutions ;  we  can  hardl_y 
have  too  many  for  our  own  good,  if  only  we  receive  them 
as  our  Saviour  did  his  cross.  It  is  by  just  these  refining 
fires  of  trial  and  suffi'ring,  that  we  are  to  be  most  advanced 
in  that  to  which  we  aspire.  The  first  thing  that  our  Saviour 
set  himself  to,  when  he  began  his  ministry,  was  the  incul- 
cation of  those  traits  that  belong  to  the  passive  or  patien  I 
side ;  for  these  he  well  understood  were  most  remote  from 
us,  highest  above  us,  and  most  of  all  cross  to  the  impatient 
stormy  spirit  of  sin  within  us.  He  opened  his  mouth  and 
taught  them  for  his  first  lesson, — Blessed  are  the  poor  in 
spirit;  Blessed  are  the  meek;  Blessed  are  the  peace 
makers ;  Blessfsd  are  they  that  are  persecuted  for  right- 
eousness sake ;  and  afterward,  in  the  same  discourse, — Re 
Kist  not  evil,  whosoever  shall  smite  thee  on  thy  right  cheek, 
invn  to  liim  the  other  also — hoxe  your  enemies,  bless  their 


412  THE    ErFICIENCY    OF 

that  curse  you,  do  good  to  them  tliat  hate  you,  and  pra^) 
for  them  that  despitefully  use  you  and  persecute  you,  ttat 
ye  may  be  the  children  of  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven 
Ana  then,  going  on  to  unfold  this  latter  idea,  showing  how 
God  reveals  his  impartial,  unresentful  patience,  be  comea 
k-  tliis,  at  last,  as  the  summit  of  all — Be  ye  therefore  per- 
fl-€t  even  as  your  fatni>,r  in  heaven  is  perfect — as  if  it  were 
the  crown  of  all  perfection,  whether  in  God  or  man,  to 
endure  evil  well.  Or,  in  other  words,  as  if  it  were  his 
opinion  that  all  good  character  is  consummated  and 
crowned  in  the  virtues  included  under  patience. 

Therefore,  I  said  we  have  not  too  many  occasions  given 
as  for  the  exercise  of  patience ;  which,  is  yet,  more  evi- 
dent, when  we  consider  the  Christian  power  of  patience. 
How  many  are  there  who  by  reason  of  poverty,  obscurity, 
infirmity  of  mind,  or  body,  can  never  hope  to  do  much 
by  action,  and  who  often  sigh  at  the  contemplation  of  their 
want  of  power  to  effect  any  thing.  But  it  is  given  to  them 
as  to  all,  to  suffer;  let  them  only  suffer  well  and  they  will 
give  a  tcstimon}^  for  God,  which  all  who  know  them  will 
deeply  feci  and  profoundly  respect.  It  is  not  necessary 
for  all  men  to  be  great  in  action.  The  greatest  and  sub- 
liracst  power  is  often  simple  patience ;  and  for  just  thai 
reason  we  need  sometimes  to  see  its  greatness  alone,  that 
we  may  embrace  the  solitary,  single  idea  of  such  great- 
fiess,  and  bring  it  into  our  hearts  unconfused  with  all  other 
kinds  of  power.  Whoever  gives  to  the  church  of  God 
Avich  a  contribution — the  invalid,  the  cripple,  the  neglected 
and  forlorn  woman — every  such  person  yields  a  testimony 
for  the  cross,  that  is  second  in  value  to  no  other. 

Let  this  be  remembered  and  let  it  be  your  joy,  in  e\erj 
trial  and  grief  and  pain  and  wrong  you  suffer,  ihat  to  ■■xif 


THE    TASSIVE    VIRTUES.  419 

fer  well  is  to  be  a  true  advocate,  and  apostle,  and  ]iiJla,i 
of  thefaitli. 

"Thoy  also  serve,  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

And  here  let  me  add  is  pre-eminently  the  olfiec  an] 
[)Ower  of  woman.  Her  power  is  to  be  the  power  most 
especially  of  gentleness  and  patient  endu-rance.  An  office 
so  divine,  let  her  joyfully  accept  and  faithfully  bear- -ad- 
ding sweetness  to  life  in  all  its  exasperating  and  bitter 
experiences,  causing  poverty  to  smile,  cheering  the  hard 
lot  of  adversity,  teaching  pain  the  way  of  peace,  abating 
hostilities  and  disarming  injuries  by  the  patience  of  hci 
love.  All  the  manifold  conditions  of  human  suffering  an  J 
sorrow  are  so  many  occasions  given  to  woman,  to  ],rove  the 
sublimity  of  true  submission,  and  reveal  the  celestial 
power  of  passive  goodness. 

Finally,  there  is  reason  to  suspect  that  men  not  religious, 
are  commonly  averted  from  the  Christian  life,  more  by 
their  dislike  of  the  submissive  and  gentle  virtues,  than  by 
any  distaste  of  sacrifice  and  active  duty.  They  could 
enter  as  companions  into  his  kingdom,  if  only  they  could 
be  excused  from  the  patience.  Their  life  of  sin  is  a  life 
of  will,  or  self-will ;  therefore  a  life  centered  in  themselves. 
Thev  have  undertaken  to  hew  their  own  way;  therefore 
to  thrust  and  push  and  fret  themselves  against  obstruc- 
tions, and  resent  oppositions,  to  envy  and  hate,and  revenge 
themselves  on  enemies,  is  the  luxury,  in  great  part,  of  their 
sin.  They  can  admire  and  praise  benevolence,  truth,  dis- 
interestedness oi'  conduct,  but  to  bear  evil  and  love  cue 
inies  and  be  patient — that  is  wholly  distant  from  the  ttiri' 
per  they  are  in.  They  aj'e  not  without  admiration  for  these 
gentle  kinds  of  excellence,  when  displayed  by  God  him 


4:14  THE    EFFICIENCY    OF,   ETC. 

eelt';  thej  will  even  be  afFected  by  what  they  p^^rceive  U 
be  tlie  sublimity  of  His  greatness  in  them ;  but  they  cun 
not  think  of  such  in  themselves  without  distaste  or  a  feel- 
ing of  dis-esteem.  There  is  a  want  of  spirit,  something 
tame  and  weak  in  such  ways,  something  too  hard  upon 
human  pride  to  be  endurable. 

And  yet  how  plain  it  is,  my  friends,  that  for  the  want 
of  j  ust  these  passive  virtues,  your  character  is  all  disorder 
and  confusion.  There  can  be  nothing,  as  you  have  seen, 
of  the  highest,  truest  greatness  in  you,  without  the  virtues 
of  patience ;  you  are  not  called  to  descend  to  these,  but,  if 
possible  to  ascend.  Christ  commands  you  to  take  up  his 
cross  and  follow  him,  not  that  he  ma}^  humble  you,  or  lay 
some  penance  upon  you,  but  that  you  may  surrender  the 
low  self-will  and  the  feeble  pride  of  your  sin,  and  ascend 
mto  the  sublime  patience  of  heavenly  charity.  You  be- 
gin to  reign,  the  moment  you  begin  to  suffer  well.  You 
aje  only  degraded  when  you  suffer,  and  groan,  writhing 
under  pains  God  lays  upon  you,  in  the  manner  of  a  slave. 
Renounce  what  is  real  degradation,  and  the  pride  that  now 
detains  you  will  not  be  left.  Choose  v;hat  will  most  exall 
^'ou,  and  these  gentle  virtues  of  the  cross  will  be  accepted 
tirst.  And  then  it  will  not  be  left  us  to  exhort  you  ;  fci 
you  will  even  claim  it  as  your  joy,  to  be  brother  and  C'vUn 
f)ani''m  in  the  kingdom  and  patience  of  Jesus. 


XXI], 

SPiniTUAL   DISLODGEMENTS 

«1ehemiah  xlviii.  11. — ^'■MocLb  hath  been  at  €(ist  from  hU 
yniiJi,  and  he  hath  settled  on  Jiis  lees,  and  hath  not  been  emp 
tied  from  vessel  to  vessel,  neither  hatJi  lie  gone  into  captivity ; 
therefore  his  taste  remained  in  him^  and  h^  scent  is  noi 
changed.'^ 

There  is  a  I'eference  here,  ii  will  be  seen,  to  wine,  oi 
to  the  process  by  which  it  is  prepared  and  finished.  It  ig 
first  expressed  from  the  grape,  when  it  is  a  thick,  discol 
ored  fluid  or  juice.  It  is  then  fermented,  passing  through 
a  process  that  separates  the  impurities,  and  settles  them  as 
lees  at  the  bottom.  Standing  thus  upon  its  lees  or  dreg's 
in  some  large  tun  or  vat,  it  is  not  further  improved.  A 
gross  and  coarse  flavor  remains,  and  the  scent  of  the  fecu- 
lent matter  stays  by  and  becomes  fastened,  as  it  were,  iii 
the  body  of  the  wine  itself.  To  separate  this,  and  so  to 
Hoften  or  refine  the  quality,  it  is  now  decanted  or  drawn 
off  into  sepa^'ate  jars  or  skins.  After  a  while  it  is  done 
again,  and  then  again ;  and  so,  being  emptied  from  vessel 
to  vessel,  the  last  remains  of  the  lees  or  sediment  are 
finally  cleared,  the  crude  flavors  are  reduced,  the  scent 
Itself  is  refined  by  ventilation,  and  the  perfect  character 
is  finished. 

So  it  has  not  been,  the  prophet  says,  with  Moab.  He 
hath  been  at  ease  from  the  first,  shaken  by  no  great  over- 
turnings  or  defeats,  humbled  and  broken  b_y  no  captivi- 
ties, ventilated  by  no  surprising  changes  or  adversities 


4:16  SPIRITUAL    DISLODGEMKNTS. 

He  has  lived  on,  from  age  to  age,  in  comparative  security 
settled  on  his  lees ;  and  therefore  he  has  made  no  improve 
ment.  What  he  was,  he  still  is ;  his  taste  remains  m  him 
and  the  scent  of  his  old  idolatries  and  barbarities  of  cus- 
tom is  not  changed.  Accordingly  the  prophet  goes  on  to 
declare,  in  the  vei'ses  that  follow,  that  God  will  now  deal 
with  him  in  a  manner  better  adapted  to  his  want ;  that  ho 
will  cause  him  to  wande:',  empty  his  vessels,  break  his 
bottles,  give  him  all  the  agitation  he  needs,  and  so  will 
make  him  to  be  ashamed  of  the  idolatries  of  Chemosh,  evf^n 
as  Israel  was  nmde  ashamed  of  Bethel,  their  confidence. 

There  has  all  along  been  a  kind  of  mental  reference,  i* 
will  be  seen,  in  his  language,  to  the  singular  contrast 
between  Moab  and  Israel,  which  here  in  these  last  words 
comes  out.  Israel,  the  covenanted  people,  have  had  no 
such  easy  and  quiet  sort  of  history.  They  have  been 
wanderers,  in  a  sense,  all  the  while;  shaken  loose  or  un- 
settled everv  few  years  by  some  great  change  or  adver 
sity ;  by  a  state  of  slavery  in  Egypt,  by  a  fifty  years' 
roving  and  fighting  in  the  wilderness,  by  a  time  of  dread- 
ful anarchy  under  the  Judges,  by  overthrows  and  judg- 
ments under  the  Kings,  by  a  revolt  and  separation  of  the 
kingdom,  then  by  a  captivity,  then  by  another;  and  so, 
while  Moab,  heaved  and  loosened  by  no  such  changea, 
has  retained  the  scent  of  its  old  customs  and  aboraina' 
tions,  Israel  has  become  quite  another  people.  The  caivea 
of  Bethel  were  long  ago  renounced  ;  the  low  superstitions 
the  coarse  and  sensual  habit,  all  the  idolatrous  fiishi'^Uk; 
and  afiinities  which  corrupted  theu"  religion,  have  beei? 
gradually  fined  away. 

Similar  contrasts  might  be  instanced  among  the  states 
and  nations  of   ;ur  own  time;  in  China,  f'.>r  example,  aud 


SPIKITUAL    DISLODGEMENTS.  417 

England,  one  standing  motionless  for  long  ages,  and  be- 
coming an  effa3te  civilization,  absolutely  hopeless  as  re 
gards  the  promise  of  a  regenerated  futare;  the  othei 
emptied  from  vessel  to  vessel,  four  times  conquered,  three 
times  deluged  with  civil  war,  converted,  refornied  and  re- 
reformed  in  religion,  and  finally  emerging,  after  more 
than  one  change  of  dynasty,  into  a  state  of  law,  liberty 
intelligence,  and  genuinely  Christian  manhood,  to  be  one 
of  the  foremost  and  mightiest  nations  of  the  world. 

But  my  object  is  personal,  not  political  or  social,  anct 
the  principle  that  underlies  the  text  is  one  that  may  be 
universalized  in  its  applications.     It  is  this : 

That  we  rtyjuire  to  be  imsettled  in  life  by  many  changes  and 
inierrujitions  of  adversity^  in  order  to  be  most  effectually  loos- 
ened from  our  own  evils,  and  j^fepared  to  the  will  a'ud  work 
of  God. 

We  need,  in  other  words,  to  be  shaken  out  of  om* 
places  and  plans,  agitated,  emptied  from  vessel  to  vessel, 
else  the  flavors  of  our  grossness  and  impurity  remain 
We  can  not  be  refined  on  our  lees,  or  in  ^ny  course  of 
life  that  is  uniformly  prosperous  and  secure.  My  object 
will  be  to  exhibit  this  truth  and  bring  it  into  a  just  appli- 
cation to  our  own  personal  experience.     Observe,  then-- 

1.  How  God  manages,  on  a  large  scale,  in  the  common 
matters  of  life,  to  keep  us  in  a  process  of  change  and  pre- 
vent our  lapsing  into  a  state  of  security  such  as  we  desiie. 
No  sooner  do  we  begin  to  settle,  as  we  fanc}^,  and  become 
fixed,  than  some  new  turn  arrives  by  which  we  are  shakeit 
loose  and  sorely  tossei.  When  the  prophet  declares  thai 
He  will  overturn,  overturn,  overturn,  he  give:;  in  that  sin- 
gle word  a  general  account  of  God's  j^jlity  in  all  humafi 


il8  SPIRITLAL    DISLODGEMENTS. 

atfairs  The  world  is  scarcely  mrned  on  its  axle  niOR 
certainly  tlian  it  is  overturned  by  the  revolutions  of  Prov- 
idence, [t  seerns  even  to  be  a  law,  in  every  sort  of  busi- 
ness or  trade,  that  nothing  shall  stand  on  its  lees.  Credit 
is  a  bubble  bursting  every  hour  at  some  gust  of  change 
VVliat  we  call  securities  are  as  well  called  insecurities. 
Titles  themselves  give  way,  and  even  real  estate  becomes 
anreal  under  our  feet.  Nor  is  it  only  we  ourselves  that 
unsettle  the  security  of  things.  Nature  herself  conspires 
to  loosen  all  our  calculations,  meeting  us  with  her  frosts, 
her  blastings,  her  droughts,  her  storms,  her  fevers,  and 
forbidding  us  ever  to  be  sure  of  that  for  which  we  labor. 
Markets  and  market  prices  faithfully  represent  the  un- 
isteadiness  of  our  objects.  Wc  look  upon  them  as  wo 
might  upon  the  sea,  and  it  even  makes  one's  head  svdm, 
only  to  note  the  fluctuations  of  all  human  goods  and 
vralues  represented  there.  Nothing  in  the  world  of  business 
is  allowed  to  have  a  base  of  calculable  certainty.  Unfore- 
seen disasters  wait  on  our  plans,  in  so  many  forms  and  com- 
binations, that  we  are  sure  of  nothing,  and  commonly  bring 
out  nothing  exactly  as  we  expected  to  do. 

The  very  scheme  of  life  appears  to  be  itself  a  grand 
decanting  process,  where  change  follows  change,  and  all 
are  emptied  from  vessel  to  vessel.  Here  and  there  a  man, 
like  Moab,  stands  upon  his  lees,  and  commonly  with  the 
same  eftect.  Fire,  flood,  famine,  sickness  in  all  forms  and 
guises,  wait  upon  us,  seen  or  unseen,  and  we  run  the 
gauntlet  through  them,  calling  it  life.  And  the  design 
appears  to  be  to  turn  us  hither  and  thither,  allowing  us 
no  chance  to  stagnate  in  any  sort  of  benefit  or  securily. 
Even  the  m.ost  successful,  who  seem,  in  one  view,  to  go 
straight  on  to  their  mark  get  on  after  all,  rather  bj  a 


SPIRITUiiL    DISLODGEMENTS.  419 

dexteroas  and  continual  shifting,  so  as  to  keep  tlieir  bal 
aiice  and  exactly  meet  the  changing  conditions  that  befall 
them.  Nor  is  there  any  thing  to  sentimentalize  over  in 
this  ever  shifting,  overturning  process,  which  must  be 
encountered  in  all  the  M^orks  of  life ;  no  place  for  sighing— 
vanity  of  vanities.  There  is  no  vanity  in  it,  more  than 
ia  the  mill  that  winnows  and  separates  the  grain. 

But  we  must  hasten  to  points  more  immediately  relig- 
ious, cari-ying  with  us,  as  we  may,  a  lesson  derived  from 
these  analogies.     Observe,  then — 

2.  That  the  radical  evil  of  human  character,  as  being 
under  sin,  consists  in  a  determination  to  have  our  own 
way,  which  determination  must  be  somehow  reduced  and 
extirpated.  Hence  the  necessity  that  our  experience  be 
so  appointed  as  to  shake  us  loose  continually  from  our 
purpose,  or  from  all  security  and  rest  in  it.  Sin  is  but 
another  name  for  self- direction.  We  cast  off  the  will  of 
God  in  it,  and  set  up  for  a  way  and  for  objects  of  our  own. 
We  lay  off  plans  to  serve  ourselves,  and  we  mean  to  carry 
them  straight  through  to  their  result.  Whatever  crosses 
us,  or  turns  us  aside,  or  in  any  way  forbids  us  to  do  or 
succeed  just  as  we  like,  becomes  our  annoj^ance.  And 
these  kinds  of  annoyance  are  so  many  and  subtle  and  va- 
rious, that  the  very  world  seems  to  be  contrived  to  baflSe 
us.  In  one  view  it  is.  It  would  not  do  for  us,  having 
east  off  the  will  of  God,  and  set  up  our  own  will,  to  let 
us  get  on  smoothly  and  never  feel  any  friction  or  collision 
with  the  will  cast  off.  Therefore  God  manages  to  turn  us 
about,  beat  us  back,  empty  us  from  vessel  to  vessel,  and 
make  us  feel  that  our  bad  will  is  hedged  about,  after  all, 
by  his  Almighty  purposes.  Sometimes  we  seem  to  benrl, 
nomotimes  to  break.     Be  it  one  or  the  other,  wc  lose  8 


420  SPIRITUAL    DISLODGLMKNIS. 

part  of  our  stiffness.  By  and  by,  to  avoid  bre; iking,  wc 
consent  to  bend,  and  so  at  last  become  more  flexible  tc 
God,  falling  into  a  mood  of  letting  go,  tlien  of  consent, 
then  of  contrition.  The  coarse  and  bitter  flavor  of  oui 
self-will  is  reduced  in  this  manner,  and  gradually  fin(>.d 
SLwaj.  If  we  could  stand  on  our  lees,  in  continual  pcao3 
and  serenity,  if  success  were  made  secure,  subject  to  no 
change  or  surprise,  what,  on  the  other  hand,  should  we  do 
more  certainly  than  stay  by  our  evil  mind  and  take  it  aa 
a  matter  of  course  that  our  will  is  to  be  done ;  the  verj 
thing  above  all  others  of  which  we  most  need  to  be  cured. 
It  would  not  answer  even  for  the  Christian,  who  has 
meant  to  surrender  his  will,  and  really  wants  to  be  per- 
fected in  the  will  of  God,  to  be  made  safe  in  his  plans 
and  kept  in  a  continual  train  of  successes.  He  wants  a 
reminder  every  hour;  some  defeat,  surprise,  adversity, 
peril ;  to  be  agitated,  mortified,  beaten  out  of  his  courses, 
so  that  all  remains  of  self-will  in  him  may  be  sifted  out 
of  him,  and  the  very  scent  of  his  old  perversity  cleared. 
O,  if  we  could  be  excused  from  all  these  changes  and 
somersets,  and  go  on  securely  in  our  projects,  it  would 
ruin  the  best  of  us.  Life  needs  to  be  an  element  of  danger 
and  agitation, — perilous,  changeful,  eventful ;  we  need  to 
Lave  our  evil  will  met  by  the  stronger  will  of  God,  in 
order  to  be  kept  advised,  by  our  experience,  of  the  impos- 
eibility  of  that  which  our  sin  has  undertaken.  It  would 
not  even  do  for  us  to  li  e  uniformly  successful  in  our  best 
meant  and  holiest  w^orks,  our  prayers,  our  acts  of  sacrifice, 
our  sacred  enjoyments ;  for  we  should  very  soon  fall  back 
into  the  subtle  power  of  our  self-will,  and  begin  to  imag- 
ine, in  oui  vanity,  that  we  are  doing  something  ourselves. 
Even  here  we  used  to  be  defeated  and  bafBed,  now  and 


SPIRITUAL    LISLODGEMENTS.  421 

then,  tliat  we  may  be  shaken  out  of  our  self-reliaQce  and 
sufficiency,  else  the  taste  of  our  e  ril  habit  remains  in  u.s 
and  our  scent  is  not  changed. 

3.  Consider  the  fact  that  our  evils  are  generally  hidder 
from  U3  till  they  are  discovered  to  us  by  some  kind  of 
trial  or  adversit3^  This  is  less  true  of  vicious  and  really 
iniquitous  men  ;  they  see  every  hour  with  their  eyes  what 
is  in  them,  or  at  least  they  may,  by  the  acts  they  do. 
Their  profanities,  frauds,  and  lies,  their  deeds  of  impurity 
and  violence,  all  that  comes  out  of  tJiem  shows  them  to  be 
defiled.  Not  so  with  a  generally  correct  man,  still  less 
so  with  a  genuine,  faithful  Christian,  endeavoring  after 
greater  sanctification  and  a  closer  conformity  to  the  will 
of  God.  Every  such  man,  living  a  life  outwardly  blame- 
less, and  desiring  earnestly  to  grow  in  all  true  holiness,  is, 
by  the  sui)]30sition,  correct  outwardly,  and  therefore  the 
evils  that  remain  in  his  spirit  are  to  a  great  extent  latent 
from  himself  Sometimes,  in  a  frame  of  high  communion 
with  God,  he  imagines  tliat  he  is  much  more  nearly  puri- 
fied than  he  is.  And  when  he  knows,  from  his  poverty 
and  spiritual  dullness,  that  something  is  certainly  wrong 
in  him,  he  will  have  great  difiiculty  in  detecting  the  pre- 
cise point  of  his  infirmity.  It  is  in  him  like  some  scent 
in  the  air,  the  source  of  which  is  hidden  and  can  not  be 
traced.  Pei-haps  he  will  never  definitely  trace  it  so  as  to 
have  it  as  a  discovery,  and  yet  God  will  manage,  by  the 
gusts  of  adversity  and  change,  to  winnow  it  away,  even 
t.hough  it  be  undiscovered.  More  commonlj^,  however, 
every  such  turn  of  adversity  will  bring  out  some  particu- 
lar fault  in  him,  which  before  was  hid,  and  which  he 
greatly  needed  to  have  discovered,  and  he  will  be  able  U: 

set  liirnself  tc  the  very  work  of  purification  by  a  direct 

3R 


422  S  ?  I  R  1  T  U  A  li    D  1  S  L  O  D  G  E  M  E  N  T  S . 

endeav(/r.  What  good  man  ever  fell  into  a  time  of  deej 
chastening,  who  did  not  find  some  cunning  infatuation^ 
by  wliicb  lie  was  holden,  broken  up,  and  some  new  dis* 
covery  made  of  himself.  The  veils  of  pride  are  rent,  the 
rock  of  self-opinion  is  shattered,  and  he  is  reduced  to  ^ 
point  of  gentleness  and  tenderness  that  allows  him  to 
suffer  a  true  conviction  concerning  what  was  hidden  from 
his  sight.  Nor  is  any  thing  so  effectual  in  this  way  as  to 
meet  some  great  overthrow  that  interrupts  the  whole 
course  Oi"  life;  all  the  better  if  it  dislodges  him  even  in 
his  Christian  works  and  appointments.  What  was  I 
doing,  he  now  asks,  that  I  must  needs  be  thrown  out  of 
my  holiest  engagements;  for  what  fault  was  I  brought 
under  this  discipline?  He  has  every  motive  now  to  be 
ingenuous,  for  the  hand  of  God  is  upon  him,  and  what 
Grod  declares  to  him  he  is  ready  to  hear.  And  ah !  how 
many  things  that  weie  hidden  from  him  start  up  now  into 
view !  How  could  he  be  allowed  to  go  on  prosj)erousl3^, 
when  there  was  so  much  in  him  and  his  engagemtmts  that 
required  rectification,  and  ought,  if  it  be  not  removed,  to 
forever  exclude  him  from  these  engagements.  Perhaps 
ne  will  be  thrown  out  of  them  entirely,  and  turned  to 
something  else,  that  he  may  there  discover,  in  a  second 
overthrow,  other  evils  that  are  still  hidden  from  hia 
knowledge.  O,  it  is  a  great  thing  with  us  that  our  God 
is  faithful  and  will  not  spare  to  set  us  in  order  before  our 
own  eye".  If  he  should  let  us  be  as  Moab  from  our  youtli, 
then  should  we  be  as  Moab  in  the  loss  of  all  valuable  im- 
provement. Better  is  it,  far  better  that  he  empties  uu 
about  on  this  siie  and  on  that,  and  passes  us  through  all 
Borts  of  capti :'ities ;  for  then  we  are,  at  least,  learning 
something  which  is  valuable  to  be  known. 


•SPIRITUAL     DISLOPGEMENTS.  423 

4  It  is  another  point  of  advai  tage  in  the  clianges  an  J 
(surprises  through  ■whi(^h  we  are  continually  passing,  that 
we  are  prepared,  in  this  manner,  to  the  gracious  and  retin- 
ing  work  of  the  spirit  in  us.  When  we  are  allowed  to  stand 
etill  and  are  agitated  by  no  changes,  we  become  incrusted, 
as  it  were,  under  our  remaininsf  faults  or  evils  and  shut  up 
in  them  as  wine  in  the  vat  where  it  is  kept.  And  the 
Spirit  of  God  is  shut  away,  in  this  manner,  by  the  imper 
viousness  of  our  settled  habit.  But  when  great  changes 
or  calamities  come,  our  crust  is  broken  up,  and  the  fresh- 
ening breath  of  the  Spirit  fans  the  open  chamber  of  the 
soul,  to  purify  it.  Now  the  pi'ayer,  cleanse  thou  me  from 
secret  faults,  finds  an  answer  which  before  was  impossible. 
Providence,  in  this  view,  is  an  agitating  power  to  break 
the  incrustations  of  evil  and  let  the  gales  of  the  Spirit 
blow  where  they  list  in  us.  Under  some  great  calamity  or 
sorrow,  the  loss  of  a  child,  the  visitations  of  bodily  pain, 
a  failure  in  business,  the  slanders  of  an  enemy,  a  persecu- 
tion for  the  truth  or  for  righteousness'  sake,  how  tender 
and  open  to  God  does  the  soul  become !  Search  me,  0 
God,  and  try  me,  and  see  if  there  be  any  evil  way  in  me, 
is  now  the  ingenuous  prayer,  and  the  Spirit  of  God  comes 
in  to  work  the  answer,  finding  every  thing  ready  for  an 
effectual  and  thorough  purgation.  And  so,  by  a  double 
process,  Providence  and  the  Spirit,  both  in  unity,  (for  God 
is  always  one  with  himself,)  we  are  perfected  in  holiness 
and  finished  in  the  complete  beauty  of  Christ  We  corJd 
never  hope  to  have  our  secret  evils  cleared  hy  any  process 
of  particular  discovery  and  sanctification,  but  God's  own 
Spirit  can  reach  every  most  hidden  fault,  and  all  the  in- 
numerable, undiscoverable  vestiges  of  our  depravity,  do- 
ing all  things  for  us.     And  so,  at  last,  even  the  scent  of 


424  SPIRITUAL    DISl.Oi^GEMENTS. 

it  ^ill  be  finally  changed.  These  holy  ventilations  of 
grace,  it  is  our  comfort  to  know  that  nothing  can  finallj 
escape.     Again— 

5.  Too  great  quiet  and  security,  long  continued,  are 
likely  to  allow  the  reaction  or  the  recovered  power  of  out 
ol(:  sins  and  must  not  therefore  be  suffered.  As  the  wine 
standing  on  its  dregs  or  lees  contracts  a  taste  from  the  lees, 
and  must  therefore  be  decanted  or  drawn  off,  so  as  to  have 
no  contact  longer  with  their  vile  sedimentary  matter,  so 
we,  in  like  manner,  need  to  be  separated  from  every  thing 
pertaining  to  the  foi'mer  life,  to  be  broken  up  in  our  ex- 
pectations and  loosened  from  the  affinities  of  our  former 
habit.  In  our  conversion  to  God  we  pass  a  crisis  that, 
like  fermentation,  clears  our  transparency  and  makes  us 
apparently  new;  we  are  called  new  men  in  Christ  Jl-su.s; 
still  the  old  man  is  not  wholly  removed.  It  settles  like 
dregs  at  the  bottom,  so  to  speak,  of  our  character,  where 
it  is,  for  the  present,  unseen.  One  might  imagine,  for  the 
time,  that  it  is  wholl}^  taken  away,  and  yet  it  is  there,  and 
is  only  the  more  likel}^  to  infect  us  that  it  is  not  sufficicntl_y 
niixed  with  our  life  to  cloud  our  present  transparency. 
Our  sanetification  is  not  to  be  completed  save  by  separa- 
tion from  it.  And  therefore  God,  who  is  faithful  to  us, 
continues  to  sever  us,  as  completely  as  possible,  from  all 
association  with  the  old  life  and  condition ;  breaks  up  our 
plans  compels  a  readjustment  of  our  objects,  empties  u« 
about  from  vessel  to  vessel,  that  our  taste  may  not  remain. 
Otherwise  the  hidden  sediment  of  the  old  man  will  some- 
time flavor  and  corrupt  the  new  even  more  than  at  first. 
Suppose  a  man  is  converted  as  a  politician — there  is  noth- 
ing wrong  certainly  in  being  a  politician — but  how  subtle 
is  the  power  of  those  old  habits  and  affinities  in  which  he 


SPIKITUAL    DlSLOJvGEMENTS.  42ft 

lived,  aud  how  likely  are  they,  if  be  goes  straight  on  hy  a 
30urse  of  prosperous  ambition,  to  be  finally  corrupted  by 
their  subtle  reaction.  When  he  is  defeated,  therefore,  a 
little  further  on,  by  untowaid  combinations,  and  thrown 
out  of  all  hope  in  this  direction,  let  him  not  think  it  hard 
that  he  is  less  successful  now  in  the  way  of  Christ,  thao 
he  was  before  in  the  way  of  his  natural  ambition.  God 
understands  him  and  is  leading  him  off  not  unlikely  to 
some  other  engagement,  that  he  may  get  him  clear  of  the 
pediment  on  which  he  stands.  In  the  same  way  doubtless 
it  is  that  another  is  driven  out  of  his  business  by  a  failure, 
another  out  of  his  family  expectations  b}^  death  and  be- 
reavement, another  out  of  his  very  industry  and  his  living 
by  a  loss  of  health,  another  out  of  prayers  and  expecta- 
tions that  were  rooted  in  presumption,  another  out  of 
works  of  beneficence  that  associated  pride  and  vanity, 
another  out  of  the  ministry  of  Christ  where  by  self-indul- 
gence, or  in  some  other  way,  his  natural  infirmities  were 
rather  increased  than  corrected.  There  is  no  engagement 
however  sacred  from  which  God  will  not  sometimes  sepa- 
rate us,  that  he  may  clear  us  of  our  sediment  and  the  re- 
actions of  our  hidden  evils.  Were  it  not  for  this,  were 
every  thing  in  our  trade  or  engagement  to  go  on  perfectly 
secure  and  prosperous,  how  certainly  would  the  old  man 
steal  up  in  it  from  the  bottom  where  it  lies,  to  corrupt  and 
foul  and  fatally  vitiate  the  new.  This,  our  God  will  not 
suffer,  and  therefore  he  continues  to  unsettle  us,  tear  ua 
away  from  our  works,  our  gains,  our  plans,  our  pleasures, 
our  associations,  and  not  seldom  even  from  our  recollec- 
tions, that  our  change  may  go  on  to  completion. 

Once  more,  we  are  most  certainly  finished,  when  we  are 
brought  closest  to  God,  and  we  are  never  brought  so  neai 

30* 


426  SPIRITUAL    DISLODGEMENTS. 

to  God  as  when  we  are  most  completely  separated  from  ovj 
personal  schemes  and  objects,  and  from  all  the  works  oi 
tlie  flesh.  How  tender  do  we  become,  when  we  are  loos- 
ened by  some  great  and  sore  disappointment;  even  a? 
Israel  was  finally  cured  of  its  last  vestiges  of  idolatiy  hy 
Its*  bitter  captivities.  Having  nothing  left  of- all  our  ex- 
peciations,  driven  out  of  our  places  and  plans  and  works, 
and  all  that  our  pride  cherished,  possibly  out  of  our  pray- 
ers themselves,  because  of  the  pride  so  cunningly  veiled 
in  their  guises  of  sanctit}^,  what  can  we  do  but  confess 
that  God  himself  is  our  all,  and  take  Him  as  tne  total 
blessing  of  our  life.  How  closely  now  are  we  drawn  to 
Him,  receiving,  as  it  were,  a  divine  flavor  from  his  purity. 
And  when  he  is  thus  brought  nigh,  how  rapidly  are 
we  changed  in  all  the  secret  scents  and  flavors  of  oui 
defilement. 

And  now  lei  me  suggest  as  in  reference  to  all  these 
illustrations,  how  much  more  they  would  signify  if  it  were 
a  day  with  us  of  great  public  calamity,  a  day,  for  example, 
of  religious  persecution,  a  day  when  fathers  or  sons  arc 
hunted  or  dragged  to  prison,  or  when  possibly  we  our- 
selves are  expecting  every  hour  to  be  seized  and  arraigned 
for  the  faith  of  the  gospel — and  so  to  be  witnesses  for  it 
even  by  the  sacrifice  on  our  lives.  0  these  times  of  perse- 
cution, what  Christians  do  they  make!  How  little  hold 
has  this  world,  or  its  sins,  of  men  who  have  laid  even  their 
lives  upon  the  altar !  We  complain  how  often,  that  in 
Lhese  days  of  security  and  liberty,  Christian  piety  grows 
thin  and  feeble,  that  it  loses  tone,  and  appears  even  tc 
want  a  character  of  reality.  The  difficulty  is  that  out 
opinions,  our  faith,  our  Christian  life,  cost  us  nothing,  and 
the  church  slides  into  the  world  because  there  is  no  broad 


SPIRITUAL    DISLODGE  MENTS.  427 

palpable  line  of  suffering  and  sacrifioe  to  separate  tlie  two 
And  for  just  this  reason,  liow  many  in  our  time  that  Lave 
practically  lost  the  distinction,  are  beginning  to  be  chiefly 
occupied  with  Christianity,  as  a  gift  to  this  world;  admir 
ing  it  as  a  civil izer  of  society  and  a  promoter  of  what  is 
called  human  progress.  How  many  even  seem  to  expect 
that  the  modem  conditions  of  political  liberty  and  seen- 
ril  y,  coalescing  with  and  patronizing  the  gospel,  are  going 
to  set  it  onward,  and  that  henceforth  the  world  must  be 
growing  into  a  kind  of  perfect  state,  by  its  own  vital 
forces.  Alas,  I  mistrust  this  millenium  of  Moab !  it  vnYl 
never  be  seen.  It  is  not  in  man,  or  human  society,  to  he 
purified,  exalted,  and  finally  consummated  by  any  such 
comfortable  and  even  process.  And  there  is  nothing  in 
our  present  indications  to  favor  such  a  hope.  These  times 
of  security  and  ease,  when  rightly  viewed,  are  but  the  lull 
of  the  ocean  between  storms.  It  were  hard  to  say  that 
times  of  public  fear  and  persecution  are  better.  God 
knows  what  is  better  and  will  temper  the  ages  himself. 
But  alas  for  poor  human  nature,  what  does  it  show  more 
evidently  even  now,  in  this  short  holiday  of  peace,  than 
the  inevitable  tameness  and  feebleness  of  devotion  when 
the  fires  of  great  public  adversity  are  smothered.  Or  if 
we  seek  to  dress  up  still  our  giants  and  heroes  in  the  faith, 
bow  shadowy  and  meagrf  do  they  look.  And  what  can 
we  rationally  promise,  but  that  our  condition  of  ease  ancl 
humanitarianism  must  finally  run  itself  into  the  ground, 
preparing  some  terrible  reaction,  some  war  of  Gog  and 
Magog  that  shall  empty  the  church  from  vessel  to  vessel, 
leaving  her  again,  as  of  old,  nothing  to  hope  for  and  look 
after  on  earth,  but  that  she  may  win  a  better  world  in  tlic 
eacrificc  and  loss  of  this. 


3-28  SPIRITUAL    /)ISLODrTEMENTS. 

The  applications  of  tliis  subject  are  many  and  varioiiS. 

First  of  all,  it  brings  a  lesson  of  admonition  to  the  class 
of  worldly  men  who  are  continually  prospered  in  the 
things  of  this  life.  One  may  be  continually  prospered  in 
some  things  when  he  is  not  in  all.  He  may  be  uniformly 
gaccessful  in  his  business  engagements  and  enterprises,  for 
example,  when,  in  fact,  he  is  tossed  by  many  and  sore  dis- 
appointments, and  shaken  by  intense  agonies  of  heart. 
And,  by  these,  he  may  be  kept  in  that  airing  of  right  con- 
viction, which  is  needed  to  winnow  his  bad  tempers,  and 
sober  his  confidence.  Far  otherwise  will  it  be  with  you, 
if  you  prosjHM'  in  every  thing  and  are  agitated  by  no  kind 
of  adversit3^  This  is  the  blessing  of  Moab,  and  the  dan- 
ger is  that,  standing  thus  upon  the  lees  from  your  youth, 
disturbed  by  no  crosses,  unsettled  by  no  changes,  you  will 
finally  become  so  fast-rooted  in  pride  and  forgetfulness  of 
God  as  to  miss  every  thing  most  dear  in  existence.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  perilous  for  you  than  just  that  which 
you  deem  your  happiness.  Nor  is  any  word  of  God  more 
pointedly  serious  than  this — Because  they  have  no  changes, 
therefore  they  fear  not  God.  I  commend  it  to  your  deep- 
est and  most  thoughtful  attention. 

Others,  again,  have  been  visited  by  man}'  and  great  ad- 
versities, emptied  about  from  vessel  to  vessel  all  their  lives 
.ong,  still  wondering  what  it  means,  while  still  they  adhere 
to  their  sins.  There  is,  alas !  no  harder  kind  of  life  than 
this,  a  life  of  continual  discipline  that  really  teaches  noth- 
ing. Is  it  so  with  you,  or  is  it  not  ?  Scorched  by  all  man- 
ner of  adversities,  are  you  still  unparified  by  the  fires  you 
have  passed  through  ?  Defeated,  crossed,  crushed,  beaten 
out  of  every  plan,  baffled  in  every  project,  shut  away  frora 
overy  aspiration,  blasted  in  every  object  your  soul  has  ev.h 


SPIRITUAI,    DI3L0DG  EMENT9,  42? 

braced,  are  you  still  unprofitcd  ?  I  have  known  such  ex- 
amples,— fig  trees  that  God  has  dug  about  every  year,  and 
that  still  remain  as  barren  as  if  no  hand  of  care  had 
touched  them  Is  there  any  thing  more  strange,  in  al; 
the  sul>jectg  of  knowledge,  than  that  a  man,  an  intelligent 
being,  should  be  nowise  instructed  by  the  sufferings  of  a 
Lite  ? — separated  in  no  degree  from,  the  world  and  self  and 
she  scent  of  his  manifold  evils,  by  that  wliich  God  has  sent 
ipon  him  to  correct  his  understanding,  and  purify  his  love, 
and  fashion  him  even  for  the  angehc  glory  ?  So  he  plods 
on  still,  contriving,  and  filling,  and  groping  with  his  face 
downward,  and  hoping  against  hope,  and  wondering  that 
the  earth  will  not  consent  to  bless  him.  O,  poor,  weather- 
worn, defeated,  yet  unprofited  man, — he  can  not  see  when 
good  Cometh  !  There  is  no  class  of  beings  more  to  be 
pitied  than  defeated  men  who  have  gotten  nothing  out  of 
their  defeat  but  that  dry  sorrow  of  the  world  which  makes 
it  only  more  barren,  and  therefore  more  insupportable. 

Is  it  necessary,  in  the  review  of  this  subject,  to  remind 
any  genuine  Christian  what  benefits  he  ought  to  receive  in 
the  trials  and  changes  through  which  he  is  called  to  pass? 
How  many  are  there  who  are  finally  driven  out  of  every 
plan  they  have  laid  for  their  course  of  life.  Their  fami- 
lies are  dissolved  and  reconstructed.  Their  location  is  dis 
lodged.  Their  business  ends  in  defeat.  No  kind  of  settle- 
ment is  attempted  which  is  not  broken  up  Ijy  some  kind  of 
thange  or  adversity.  And  even  where  there  is  a  measure 
of  prosperity,  how  many  are  the  changes,  losses,  trials,  sur-. 
prises,  and  pains.  D )  you  find,  my  brother,  that,  when 
you  are  thus  emptied  about,  dislodged,  agitated,  loosened, 
you  are  purified  ?  Or,  does  the  bad  flavor  of  your  worldly 
habitfi,  the  sce^n  of  your  old  ambition,  or  your  earthly 


i'60  SPIRITUAL    DISLODGEMENTS, 

[)ride,  remain.  There  could  not  be:  a  worse  sign  foi  you 
aa  Kigards  the  reality  of  your  christian  confidenci).  And 
it  will  be  a  worse  sign  still,  if  you  are  habitually  irritatec. 
by  your  defeats,  and  even  dare  to  murmur  impatiently 
against  the  strange  severity  of  Grod, — as  if  it  were  a  strange 
thing  for  you  that  your  faithful  God  will  iry  to  bring  you 
off  the  lees  on  which  you  stand!  A  far  more  strange 
thing  is  it  that,  having  no  great  persecutions  to  suffer  for 
(.'hrist,  you  can  not  find  how,  as  a  follower,  to  endure  these 
common  trials.  God  forbid  that  you  so  little  understand 
your  privilege  m  them.  Receive  them  meekly  rather,  and 
bow  dowri  to  them  gladly.  Bid  them  welcome  when  they 
come,  and,  if  they  come  not,  ask  for  them ;  lift  up  youi 
cry  unto  God,  and  beseech  him  that  by  any  means  he  will 
correct  you,  and  purify  you,  and  separate  you  to  himself. 

But  there  is  a  use  of  this  subject  that  has  many  times 
occurred  to  you  already,  and  to  this,  in  conclusion,  let  ua 
now  come.*  By  the  visitation  of  God  upon  us, — upon  you, 
that  is,  and  upon  me, — the  tenure  and  security  of  oui  rela- 
tion as  pastor  and  people  has  been  interrupted  now  for  two 
whole  years.  Whether  it  was  God's  design,  by  this  inter- 
ruption, to  refine  us  and  purify  us  to  a  better  use  of  this 
relation,  or  to  bring  it  to  a  full  end,  remains  now  to  be  seen. 
The  former'is  my  earnest  hope  and  my  constant  prayer. 
Was  there  nothing  in  us,  on  one  side  or  on  both,  that  re- 
quired this  discipline  and  made  it  even  necessary  for  us? 
Is  there  no  reason  to  suspect  that,  in  our  state  of  confi- 
dence and  security,  we  were  beginning  to  look  for  tho 
blessing  of  Moab  and  not  for  the  blessing  of  Israel?     Foi 


*  T&is  discourse  was  so  far  colored,  as  a  whole,  by  the  pc  cul.ar  intores;, 
ct  the  occafeion  referred  to  -lere  in  the  cbsc,  that  retainiug  th-  )cca3ioria.' 
ooatter  appi^ars  to  be  required. 


SPIRITUAL     DISLODaEMENTS  43' 

myself,  I  feel  constrained  to  admit  that  T  had  tome  to  re 
gard  my  continuance  here  too  mucli  as  a  matter  of  coursci^ 
an  appointment  subject  to  no  repeal  or  change.  T  hac 
learned  to  trust  you  implicitly  as  my  friends,  and  kne-wf 
that  you  could  never  be  less.  I  had  let  my  roots  run  out 
un  1  downward  among  you,  in  a  growth  of  nearly  a  quartej 
of  a  century.  There  was  stealing  on  me  tnus,  as  I  now 
discover,  a  feeling  of  security  and  establishment,  which  is 
not  good  for  any  sinful  man,  and  will  not  let  him  be  thfi 
pilgrim  on  earth  that  he  ought.  Under  the  semblance  of 
duty  and  constancy,  I  had  undertaken  to  die  here  and  no- 
where else,  knowing  no  other  people,  place,  or  work.  And 
under  this  fair  cover  crept  a  little  foolish  pride,  it  may  be^ 
that  really  needed  chastisement.  As  if  it  were  for  me  to 
say  where  I  would  stay  or  die!  Just  here,  unwittingly, 
my  imagined  constancy  became  presumption.  Further- 
more, I  had  always  been  too  much  like  Moab,  as  I  now 
see,  and  bitterly  needed  some  kind  of  captivity  more  real, 
some  change  more  crippling,  than  the  trivial  adversities  1 
had  heretofore  tossed  aside  so  lightly. 

Meantime,  was  there  nothing  on  your  part,  or  in  you 
that  required  a  similar  discipline?  Having  seen  your 
church  almost  uniformly  prosperous  for  a  long  course  of 
years,  and  growing  steadily  up  from  a  feeble  and  small  one, 
to  a  condition  of  strength,  were  there  not  many  of  you  that 
were  losing  a  righteous  concern  for  it,  and  beginning  to 
leave  it  practically  to  me,  as  if  I  could  take  care  of  ic? 
ceasing  in  that  manner  from  their  trust  in  God,  by  which 
they  had  before  upheld  me,  and  from  those  personal  re- 
Hponsibilities  for  it,  which  are  the  necessary  condition  oi 
aJl  earnestness  in  the  christian  life?  I  should  do  wi'ong 
Qot  to  say  that  I  have,  many  times,  been  so  far  oj)presfed 


(132  SPIRITUAL    DTSLODGEMENTS. 

by  this  conviction,  as  to  doubt  whethei  it  might  not  even 
be  better  for  you,  if  I  were  entirely  taken  out  of  the  way. 
You  have  been  subjected  to  some  uncommon  trials  on  my 
account.  Have  you  never  slid  from  the  christian  constancy 
and  patience  in  which  you  stood,  into  a  temper  of  mere  self- 
reliance,  as  if  by  some  human  sufficiency  you  had  been  able 
to  stand  unbroken  ?  Were  you  touched  by  no  subxle  pride, 
^ere  you  betrayed  into  no  undue  self-confidence,  were  you 
slid  unwittingly  into  no  trust  in  a  worm  that  you  mis- 
took for  trust  in  God?  Ah,  if  you  had  been  cut  down  as  a 
church  by  adversity,  crippled,  weakened,  emptied  from 
vessel  to  vessel,  brought  into  captivity  as  regards  all  hope 
from  man,  how  much  might  it  have  done  for  you.  It  i3 
the  blessing  of  Moab,  as  I  greatly  fear,  that  has  injured 
you,  and,  as  God  is  faithful,  he  would  not  let  you  suffer 
in  this  manner  longer.  And  so,  both  for  my  sake  and  for 
yours,  he  has  brought  this  heavy  trial  or  adversity  upon 
us.  By  this  he  takes  us  off  our  lees,  and  his  design  has 
been  to  ventilate  us  by  the  separation  we  have  suffered. 
He  means  to  purify  us,  to  take  away  all  our  self-confidence, 
and  our  trust  in  each  other,  and  bring  us  into  implicit, 
bumble  trust  in  himself 

And  the  work  he  has  begun,  I  firmly  believe  that  he 
will  prosecute  till  his  object  is  gained.  If  two  years  of 
Reparation  will  not  bring  us  to  our  places  and  correct  our 
5in,  he  will  go  further.  He  will  finally  command  us  apart 
in  1  tear  us  loose  from  all  our  common  ties  and  expecta- 
tions, l^'or  myself,  I  am  anxious  to  learn  the  lesson  he  ia 
teaching,  and  I  pray  God  that  a  similar  purpose  may  enter 
into  you.  Let  not  this  happy  return,  which  God  has  vouch- 
safed me,  and  the  congratulaliwus  of  the  occasion,  drive 
away  all  the  sober  and  searchn  g  truths  God  was  trying  to 


SPIRITUAL    DISLODOEMENTS.  433 

enter  into  our  hearts.  Be  jealous  of  any  sucli  lightness. 
As  you  rcyoicc  with  mc  and  give  thanks  unto  God  for  his 
undeserved  goodness,  consent  with  me  to  God's  correctiona 
also,  and  join  me  in  the  prayer  that  other  and  heavier  cor- 
rections may  not  be  made  necessary,  by  the  want  of  all 
fi-iiit  in  these.  For  be  assured  that,  as  you  are  Israel  and 
pot  Moab,  God  will  deal  with  you  as  he  deals  with  Israel, 
and  will  not  spa^e  till  your  purification  is  accomplished. 
Let  us  go  to  him  as  penitents,  in  our  common  sorrow,  and 
make  our  common  confession  before  him,  determined,  every 
one,  that  he  will  turn  himself  to  God's  correcting  hand, 
and  follow  it.  And  as  thou  hast  smitten  us,  0,  Lord,  do 
thou  heal  us;  as  thou  hast  broken,  do  thou  bind  us  up; 
that  we  may  be  establisjod  in  lioliness  before  thee,  and 
walk  humbly  and  carefi  11}-  in  thy  sight,  as  they  whom  the 
Lord  hath  cl  aster.ed. 

37 


XXIIl 

CHRIST   AS   SEPARATE    FROM    TUE    WORLD. 

Hebrews  vii.  26. — ^^ Separate  from  sinners^  and  r.iadt 
higher  than  the  heavensP 

With  us  of  to-day,  it  is  the  commendation  of  Jesus 
that  he  is  so  profoundly  humbled,  identified  so  afiectingly 
with  our  human  state.  But  the  power  he  had  with  the 
men  of  his  time  moved  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction, 
being  the  impression  he  made  of  his  remoteness  and  sepa- 
rateuess  from  men,  when  he  was,  in  fact,  only  a  man,  as 
they  supposed,  under  all  human  conditions.  With  us,  it 
is  the  wonder  that  he  is  brought  so  low.  With  them,  that 
he  could  seem  to  rise  so  high ;  for  they  knew  nothing,  as 
yet,  of  his  person  considered  as  the  incarnate  Word  of  tho 
Father.  This  contrast,  however,  between  their  position 
and  ours  is  not  as  complete  as  may,  at  first,  seem  to  us ; 
for  that  which  makes  their  impression,  makes,  after  all,  a 
good  part  of  ours.  For  when  we  appeal  thus  to  his  hu- 
miliations under  the  flesh,  and  as  a  man  of  sorrows,  we 
really  do  not  count  on  the  flesh  and  the  sorrows,  as  being 
the  Christly  power,  but  only  on  what  he  brought  into 
the  world  from  above  the  world,  by  the  flesh  and  the  sor- 
rows,— the  holiness,  the  deific  love,  the  self-sacrificing 
greatness,  the  everlasting  beauty ;  in  -a  word,  all  that  most 
distinguishes  him  above  mankind  and  shows  him  most 
transcendently  separate  from  sinners.  Here  is  the  great 
power  of  Cbristianitj-— the  immense  importation  it  makes 


CHRIST    AS    SEPARATE,    ETC,  435 

from  w  jrldi  of  glory  outside.  Hence  tKe  intimation  of 
tlie  text,  that  it  became  our  Lord,  as  the  priest  of  our  sal- 
vation, to  be  not  only  holy,  harmless,  and  undeiiled,  but 
separate  also  from  sinners,  and  made  higher  than  the 
heavens ;  that  so  he  may  be  duly  qualified  for  his  trana- 
cendent  work  and  office. 

What  I  propose,  then,  for  my  present  subject,  is,—  The 
separatcness  of  Jesus  from  men;  the  immense  power  it  hnd 
and  must  eve:-  have  on  their  feeling  and  character. 

I  do  not  mean  by  this  that  Christ  was  separated  as 
being  at  all  withdrawn,  but  only  that  in  drawing  himself 
most  closely  to  them,  he  was  felt  by  them  never  as  being 
on  their  level  of  life  and  character,  but  as  being  parted 
from  them  by  an  immense  chasm  of  distance.  He  waa 
born  of  a  woman,  grew  up  in  the  trade  of  a  mechanic, 
was  known  as  a  Nazarene,  stood  a  man  before  the  eye, 
and  yet  he  early  began  to  raise  impressions  that  separated 
him,  and  set  him  asunder  inexplicably  from  the  world  he 
was  in. 

These  impressions  were  not  due,  as  I  have  said,  to  any 
distinct  conceptions  they  had  of  him  as  being  a  higher 
nature  incarnate ;  for  not  even  his  disciples  took  up  any 
«uch  definite  conceptions  of  his  nature,  till  after  his  death 
<nd  ascension.  It  was  guessed,  indeed,  that  he  might  ba 
IClias,  or  some  one  of  the  old  prophets,  but  we  are  only 
to  see,  in  such  struggles  of  conjecture,  how  powerfully 
be  has  already  impressed  the  sense  of  his  distinction,  or 
separatcness  of  character;  for  such  guesses  or  conjecturesF 
were  even  absurd,  unless  the;)  were  instigated  by  previous 
im})ressions  of  somethiiig  very  peculiar  in  his  uncaitl  ]y 
manner,  requiring  to  be  acco anted  for. 


436  CHRIST    AS    SETA  RATS 

(lis  miracles  had  undoubtedly  something  to  do  with  the 
impression  of  his  separateness  from  ordinary  men,  but  a 
great  many  others,  who  were  strictly  human,  have 
wrought  miracles,  without  creating  any  such  gulf  be- 
tween them  and  mankind  as  we  discover  here. 

It  is  probably  true  also  that  the  rumor  of  his  being  the 
Messiah,  the  great,  long-expected  prince  and  deliverer, 
had  something  to  do  in  raising  the  impressions  of  meii 
oonceining  him.  But  their  views  of  the  Messiah  to  come 
had  prepared  them  to  look  only  for  some  great  hero  and 
deliverer,  and  a  kind  of  political  millenium  under  his 
kingdom.  There  was  nothing  in  their  expectation  that 
should  separate  him  specially  from  mankind,  as  being  a 
more  than  humanly  superlative  character. 

Pursuing  then  our  inquir}^,  let  us  notice,  in  the  first 
place,  how  the  persons  most  remote  and  opposite,  even 
they  that  finally  conspired  his  death,  were  impressed  or 
affected  by  him.  They  deny  his  Messiahship;  they 
charge  that  only  Beelzebub  could  help  him  do  his  mira- 
cles; they  are  scandalized  by  his  fomiliarity  with  publi- 
cans and  sinners  and  other  low  people ;  they  arraign  his 
doctrine  as  a  heresy  against  many  of  the  most  sacred  lawa 
of  their  religion ;  they  charge  him  with  the  crime  of 
breaking  their  Sabbatli,  and  even  with  excess  in  eating 
and  drinking;  and  yet  we  can  easily  see  that  there  is 
growing  up,  in  their  minds,  a  most  peculiar  awe  of  his 
person.  And  it  appears  to  be  excited  more  by  his  man- 
ners and  doctrine  and  a  certain  indescribable  originality 
and  sanctity  in  both,  than  by  any  thnig  else.  His  towns 
inLi;  the  Nazarenes,  for  example,  were  taken  with  sur 
nrise,  by  his  discourses  in  the  synagogue  and  elsewhere- 


FROM    THE    WORLD.  4S7 

knowing  well  tliat  he  had  never  received  the  aids  of 
learning.  Is  not  this  the  carpenter's  son?  they  inquired. 
Do  we  not  all  know  his  brothers  and  sisters,  living  her? 
among  us?  Whence  then  these  gracious  words  that  w€ 
hoar  him  speak?  When  his  wonderful  sermon  on  ilu 
mount  was  ended,  what  said  the  multitude?  The  vcrj 
point  of  their  astonishment  was  that  he  spoke  with  such 
an  original  and  strong  authority,  and  not  as  the  Scribes; 
who  were,  in  fact,  the  Sophists  of  Jewish  learning,  but 
were  held  in  high  respect  as  a  learned  order.  The  ex- 
pressions made  use  of  by  these  hearers  of  Jesus  indicate, 
in  fact,  a  raising  of  their  own  thoughts  by  what  they  had 
heard,  and  the  sense  they  had  of  some  sacred  and  even 
celestial  freshness  in  his  manner  and  doctrine.  Without 
including  the  centurion  at  Capernaum  among  his  enemies, 
we  may  gather  something  from  him,  in  respect  to  the 
probable  impression  made  by  the  bearing  and  discourse 
of  Jesus.  He  was  a  Roman,  but  appears  withal  to  have 
been  a  man  of  religious  worth  and  culture.  He  had  even 
built  a  synagogue  for  the  people  of  Capernaum,  at  his 
own  expense.  In  that  synagogue  he  had  probably  been  re- 
warded in  hearing  Jesus  speak  ;  for  the  Saviour  had  been 
making  Capernaum  a  kind  of  center  for  some  time  past. 
But  we  observe  that  when  he  sends  to  Jesus  to  obtain  the 
healing  of  his  servant,  he  has  been  so  deeply  impressed 
with  the  Saviour's  manner,  that  he  does  not  presume 
on  his  military  position  as  keeping  guard  over  a  van- 
quished country,  takes  on  no  high  airs  of  negotiation, 
but  even  requests  that  Jesus  will  not  think  it  neces- 
sary to  come  under  his  roof,  for  he  is  really  not  wor- 
thy of  so  great  honor.  He  may  have  apprehended  that 
Christ   might    have   sDme   religious    scruples  in   lespect 


i38  CHEIST    AS    SEPARATE 

Lo  the  implied  defilement  of  such  intercoiirsc  with  a  nom 
inal  pagan.  If  so,  there  was  the  greater  respect  in  hia 
delicacy. 

Beginning  with  impressions  like  these,  we  can  easily  src 
that  the  public  mind  is  gradually  becoming  saturated  with 
a  kind  of  awe  of  his  person ;  as  if  he  might  be  some  higher, 
Hr.er  nature  come  into  the  world.  This  was  the  ^eeling 
that  shook  the  courage  of  the  traders  and  money-changers 
in  the  temple  and  made  them  fly,  in  such  feeble  panic  be- 
fore him.  For  the  same  reason  it  was  that  a  band  of  offi- 
cers sent  out  at  an  early  period,  to  arrest  him,  returned 
without  having  executed  their  commission ;  for,  they  said, — 
Never  man  spake  like  this  man.  Such  words  of  clcarnesa 
and  repose  and  purity  fell  on  them,  as  excited  their  imagin- 
ation, starting  the  conception  apparently  of  one  speaking 
out  of  eternity  and  worlds  unknown.  He  put  them  un- 
der such  constraints  of  fear,  in  short,  by  his  words  and  man- 
ner, that  they  did  not  dare  to  arrest  him.  And  just  this 
kind  of  feeling  grew  upon  the  people,  as  his  ministry 
advanced,  till  it  became  a  superstition  general ;  for  it  is  the 
way  of  minds  infected  by  any  such  tendencies,  to  make 
ghosts  of  the  fancy  out  of  mere  impressions  of  superior 
dignity,  and  even  goodness.  Hence,  so  far  from  suppos- 
ing that  he  could  be  captured  as  safely  as  a  lamb,  and  with 
less  of  resistance,  they  appear  to  have  had  a  kind  of  sus- 
picion that  he  would  strike  blind,  or  annihilate  the  first 
liian  that  touched  him.  Indeed  one  reason  why  they 
wanted  to  get  him  in  their  power,  apparently  was,  that  he 
was  reported  to  have  given  out  his  determination  to  shake 
down  the  temple,  ai"d  they  were  even  much  concei'necl 
'est  he  might  do  it.  Hence  the  problem  with  them  was, 
nol  how   to  arrest  any  common  man,  or  sinner  of  nan' 


FROM    THE    WORLD.  iS9 

kind,  but  a  superior,  mysterious,  fearful  one,  and  theie 
wanted,  as  they  imagined,  some  kind  of  magic  to  do  it 
They  took  up  thus  an  impression,  that  if  they  could  sub- 
orn one  of  his  followers,  it  would  break  the  spell  of  hia 
power  and  they  could  proceed  safely.  They  bought  off 
Judas  accordingly,  and  he  was  to  conduct  them — not  that 
they  could  not  otherwise  find  the  Saviour,  not  that  Judaa 
could  do  any  thing  physically  in  the  matter  of  the  arrest, 
which  they  could  not  do  themselves ;  but  they  seem  to 
have  imagined  that  if  Judas  would  bring  them  directly 
before  him,  and  speak  to  him,  it  would  assure  them,  and 
be  a  kind  of  token  to  him  that  his  power  was  broken ; 
for  they  believed  greatly  in  spells  and  other  such  conceiti? 
of  the  fancy.  And  yet  when  they  came  upon  him— a 
large  band  of  marshals  and  assistants  with  torches  and 
lanterns  and  all  strong  arms  of  defense — they  were  smit- 
ten with  such  dread  at  the  thought  of  being  actually  be- 
fore him,  that  they  even  reeled  backward  and  fell  to  the 
ground!  He  was  such  a  being,  in  their  apprehension,  that 
their  chances  of  living  another  minute  were  doubtful! 

It  is  easy  also  to  see  that  Pilate,  even  after  his  arrest,  is 
profoundly  impressed  with  the  sense  of  something  supe- 
rior, more  wise,  or  holy,  or  sacred,  than  he  had  seen  be- 
fore. The  dignity  of  Christ's  answer,  and  also  of  hia 
manner  had  awakened  visibly  a  kind  of  awe  in  his  mind. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  undertaken  to  question  a  king  in- 
deed ;  one  superior  in  all  majesty  to  himself  Unaccounta- 
bly to  himself  he  grows  superstitious,  as  if  dealing  with 
some  divinity,  he  knows  not  who,  and  he  can  not  so  muck 
as  give  his  mere  negative  sentence  of  permission,  pagan 
♦•.hough  he  be,  without  washing  his  hands  as  religiously  as 
if  he  were  some  Pharisee,  to  be  clear  of  the  guilt  of  th» 


4:40  CHRIST    AS    SEPiiRATS 

transaction.  The  centurion  too,  tliat  kept  guard  by  tli< 
cross,  another  Roman,  is  so  affected,  or  impressed  by  the 
majestic  manner  of  Jesus  in  his  death,  that  he  bears  sponta* 
neons  witness,  out  of  his  own  feeling,  probably  in  word?, 
which  he  had  heard,  but  only  dimly  understood  as  having 
some  very  m3"sterious  and  high  meaning, — Truly  this  waa 
the  Son  of  God ! 

If  now  it  should  be  objected  here  that  the  enemies  c  f 
Jesus  would  never  have  dared  to  insult  his  person  S'^  bru- 
tally in  his  trial  and  crucifixion,  if  they  had  been  real  I}' 
impressed,  as  we  are  supposing,  with  the  wonderful  sacred- 
ness  and  separateness  of  his  character,  it  is  enough  to  an- 
swer that  exactly  this  is  the  manner  of  cowardice.  Only 
yesterday  these  same  men  were  in  such  awe  of  him  that 
they  trembled  inwardly  at  the  sound  of  his  name;  and 
now  that  they  find  him  strangely  in  their  power,  submit* 
ting  to  them  in  the  meekness  of  a  lamb,  they  grow  brave, 
pleased  to  find  that  they  can  be ;  and  to  make  it  sure,  they 
multiply  their  blows  and  other  indignities,  in  a  manner  of 
low  and  really  ignominious  triumph  over  him  But  how 
soon  does  the  true  shame  and  bitterness  of  theii  sin  return 
upon  them.  For  when  they  saw  the  funeral  weeds  of 
nature's  sorrow  hung  over  the  sun,  and  felt  the  shuddering 
ague  of  the  world,  their  spirit  fell  again.  And  all  the 
people,  says  Luke,  that  came  together  to  that  sight,  be- 
holding th3  things  that  were  done,  smote  their  breasts  and 
returned. 

Turn  novA,  secondlj^,  to  the  disciples,  and  observe  how 
they  were  impressed  or  affected  by  the  manner  and  spirii 
of  Jesus.  And  here  the  remarkable  thing  is,  that  the-n 
ap]>ear  to  be  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  distance 


fROM    THE    WORLD.  44) 

■between  him  and  themselves,  the  longer  ibey  know  liim 
and  the  more  intimate  and  familiar  their  acquaintance  with 
him,  Tie  took  possession  of  them  strangely  even  at  tho 
\ery  first,  much  as  you  will  see  in  the  case  of  Matthew  thfl 
publican.  The  man  is  sitting  at  the  receipt  of  custom, 
and  Christ;  who  is  passing  by,  says  to  him — Come,  follow 
nie.  That  word  has  a  mystery  in  it,  which  can  not  Ijc 
withstood  ;  he  forsakes  all  and  follows  at  command.  At 
first,  however,  the  impression  had  of  Jesus  is  more  shallow 
in  all  the  discij^les.  It  fared  with  them  much  as  with  the 
woman  at  the  well,  who  took  him  first,  for  a  common 
traveler,  then  for  a  prophet,  and  finally  as  the  great  Mes- 
siah, having  onl}^  the  faintest  conception  of  him  probably 
even  then.  But  they  grew  more  and  more  impressed  with 
his  greatness,  and  the  strangeness  of  his  quality;  for  there 
was  so  much  in  his  authorit}^,  purity,  love,  wisdoni,  thai 
they  could  only  spell  him  out  by  syllables. 

Thus  we  may  take  Peter  as  an  example  for  all  the  oth 
ers ;  for,  in  the:  surname,  Peter,  that  wa,*  eQ,r]y  given  hira 
by  his  Master,  and  also  by  the  promip'j  that  on  him,  as  the 
rock  of  its  foundation,  the  church  was  to  be  built,  every 
thing  was  done  to  keep  him  assured  and  help  him  to 
maintain  a  footing  of  confidence.  How  then  was  it,  as  he 
came  into  closer  acquaintance  with  his  Master?  At  the 
first,  when  his  brother  Andrew  conducted  him  to  Jesua 
he  felt  much  as  his  brother  did  the  day  before,  when  he 
and  his  fi  lend,  having  heard  John's  remarkable  apostro- 
phe— Behold  the  Lamb  of  God — accosted  him  freely,  pui 
themselves,  as  it  were,  upon  him  and  'jpcnt,  if  we  maj 
judge,  whole  hours  in  their  priv?-r  questioning.  Peter's 
exclamation,  shortly  after,  at  thf  r.iraculous  draught  of 
fishes,-— Depart  from  me  O  Lord,  ^or  I  am  a  sinful  man, 


442  CHEIST    AS    SEPARATE 

might  seem  to  indicate  a  very  wide  sense  of  distance  al- 
ready felt  between  him  and  Christ ;  but  it  ratlier  sigiiifiea 
after  all  the  violence  of  his  wonder  at  the  miracle,  than 
any  deep  moral  sense  of  the  dignity,  purity,  and  superioi 
majesty  of  Christ.  Accordingly  it  will  be  seen,  sometime 
after  this,  that  he  is  bold  enough  to  take  the  Saviour  to 
account  and  rebuke  him,  with  a  degree  of  emphasis  not  a 
little  offensive,  for  the  conceit  of  it.  At  the  washing  of 
the  disciples'  feet  he  breaks  out  again  less  boldly,  but  as 
soon  as  he  finds  that  he  is  in  a  mistake,  recalls  his  strong 
assevei'ation,  saying  in  the  gentlest  manner, — not  my  feet 
)nly,  but  my  hands  and  my  head.  Then  again,  at  the 
i?cene  of  the  table,  where  the  revelation  is — "One  of  you 
shall  betray  me,"  he  has  been  so  far  removed,  sunk  so  low, 
by  the  wonderful  discourses  of  Jesus  to  which  he  has 
oeen  listening,  that  he  does  not  even  dare  to  accost  his 
'Master  with  a  question  spoken  aloud,  but  beckons  to 
:Tohn  to  whisper  it  for  him,  as  he  lies  reclining  on  the 
Saviour's  breast.  Then,  once  more,  after  having  openly 
denied  him  and  foresworn  all  connection  with  him, 
seeing  that  he  is  now  stripped  of  his  power,  and  hia 
very  Messiahship  is  a  virtuall}^  exploded  hope,  Peter  is 
nevertheless  under  such  an  habitual  awe  of  his  person, 
that  the  simply  catching  a  look  of  his  eye,  as  he  goes  out 
of  the  hall  of  Caiaphas,  and  seeing  it  turned  full  upon 
him,  breaks  him  quite  down,  and  even  overwhelms  him 
vs'ith  sorrow.  He  was  in  the  most  unlikely  mood  for  ii 
possible ;  fresh  in  the  wrong,  flushed  by  the  very  oaths 
he  has  taken,  all  in  a  tremor,  unstrung  for  any  considera- 
tion of  trith  by  the  inward  disturbance  of  his  falsity,  and 
yet  he  is  riven  by  that  mere  look  of  Jesus,  Ji8  if  it  were 
\  glance  of  the  Almighty. 


FROM    THK    WORLD.  448 

The  same  tiling  could  be  shown  by  other  examples, 
but  it  must  suffice  to  say  that,  while  the  miracles  of 
Christ  do  not  increase  in  grandeur  with  the  advance  of 
his  ministry,  his  disciples  are  visibly  growing  all  the  while 
more  and  more  impressed  with  the  sense  of  distance  be- 
tween him  and  themselves,  and  of  some  unknown,  trans 
cendeut  mystery,  by  which  he  is  separated,  as  another  kind 
of  being,  from  the  world  he  is  in.  This,  in  part,  is  their 
blessing;  for,  as  they  are  humbled  in  it,  so  they  are  raised 
by  it,  feel  the  birth  of  new  affinities,  rise  to  higher  thoughts, 
and  are  wakened  to  a  conscious  struggle  after  God. 

What  now,  thirdly,  is  the  solution  of  this  profound  im 
pression  of  separateness,  made  by  Christ  on  the  world? 
That  his  miracles  and  the  repute  of  his  Messiahship  do  not 
wholly  account  for  it  we  have  already  observed.  It  may 
be  imagined  by  some  that  he  produced  this  impression 
artificially  by  means  of  certain  scenes  and  observance^! 
designed  to  widen  out  the  distance  between  him  and  ihe 
/ace ;  for,  how  could  he  otherwise  obtain  that  power  over 
tliem  which  he  was  properly  entitled  to  have,  by  his  own 
real  eminence,  unless  he  took  some  pains  to  set  them  in 
attitudes  in  which  his  eminence  might  be  felt.  In  other 
words,  if  he  is  to  have  more  than  a  man's  power,  he  mus\ 
Bomehow  be  more  than  a  man.  Thus,  wlien  he  says  to  hia 
mother, — Woman,  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee,  my  hour 
is  not  yet  come?  or  when,  being  notified  that  his  motlicr 
and  brethren  are  standing  without  waiting  to  see  him,  he 
asks, — Who  then  is  my  mother  and  who  are  my  brethren  V 
it  will  be  imagined  that  he  is  purposely  suggesting  hia 
higher  derivation  and  his  more  transcendent  affinities. 
But,  even  if  it  were  so,  it  must  be  understood  only  that  he 


444  CHRISl     AS    SEPARATE 

is  speaking  out  of  his  spiritual  consciousness,  claim mg 
thus  affinity  with  God  and  with  those  wiio  shall  embract; 
liim  in  the  eternal  brotherhood  of  faith;  not  as  boafc-ting 
the  hight  of  his  natural  sonship. 

So,  again,  in  the  scene  of  the  baptism  and  the' vision 
of  the  dove  descending  upon  him,  introduced  by  the  very 
strange  outburst  of  prophetic  utterance  in  John,  when  he 
Bees  the  Saviour  coming,- — Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  that 
taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world!  it  may  be  imagined 
that  the  design  is  to  usher  him  into  his  ministry  as  a  su- 
perior being.  But  what,  in  that  view,  shall  we  say  of  thff 
gi-eat  soul-struggle  previous,  called  the  temptation  ?  It  is 
not  to  be  denied  that  the  scene  of  the  baptism  connects 
impressions  of  some  very  exalted  quality  in  the  subject , 
and  yet,  if  we  bring  in  the  temptation,  and  regard  the 
transaction  as  a  solemn  inaugural  of  Christ's  great  minis- 
try.— God's  act  of  separation,  his  own  act  of  assumption 
here  passed, — there  is  nothing  in  it  to  set  him  off  distinctly 
from  men,  save  as  he  is  set  off  by  his  character  and  his 
consecration  to  his  work.  Indeed,  no  one  took  up  the  im- 
pression from  this  inaugural  scene  that  he  was  a  being 
above  the  human  order. 

On  a  certain  occasion  he  is  transfigured,  and  Moses  and 
Elias  appear  as  only  secondary  figures  in  the  scene;  by 
which  it  may  be  designed,  some  will  ftmcy,  to  widen  out 
the  chasm  between  himself  and  men,  showing  himself  to 
be  the  compeer  and  more, — even  the  Lord  of  angels  and 
glorified  spirits.  This  may  have  been  the  design,  or  rather 
it  probably  was ;  at  least,  so  far  as  to  have  that  effect  on 
the  future  ages;  for  it  was  important,  we  may  believe,  to 
right  impressions  of  his  person,  in  the  coming  time,  thai 
his  excellent  glory  should  some  time  have  been  discovered 


FROM    THE    WORLf?  44*1 

or  anv30vere(I  to  men,  and  the  facts  reported  as  historica, 
proofs  of  his  divinity.  But  it  does  not  appeal  tliat  the 
three,  by  whom  the  transfiguration  was  seen  and  reported^ 
ever  disclosed  the  fact  during  the  Saviour's  life-time ;  and 
it  's  remarkable  that  one  of  these,  even  after  the  fact,  liad 
such  confidence  and  assurance  toward  his  dear  Lord,  that 
he  even  dared  to  lay  lis  head  on  that  once  transfigured 
breast!  In  which  it  is  made  clear  that,  however  much  w'3 
may  imagine  Christ  to  have  been  lifted  in  order  by  the 
scene  of  the  transfiguration,  he  still  remained  a  properly 
fellow  nature,  even  to  one  who  was  present  as  a  beholder; 
who  felt,  in  his  deepest  center,  the  separateness  of  Christ,  and 
the  transcendent  mystery  of  his  character,  but  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  at  all  removed,  or  thrown  out  of  con- 
fidence by  the  sacred  awe  in  which  he  saw  him  invested 
He  could  never  have  laid  his  head  on  the  bosom  of  a  per 
son  regarded  as  being  really  deific. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  really  astounding  assump- 
tions put  forth  by  Christ?  Were  they  not  designed  as 
dcclaraticrs,  or  assertions  of  a  superhuman  order  in  hia 
natural  person  ?  When  he  asks, — Who  convinceth  me  of 
sin  ?  when  he  declares, — Ye  are  from  beneath,  I  am  fi'om. 
above, — I  am  the  bread  that  cometh  down  from  heaven  , 
y^hen  he  dares  to  use  the  pronoun  ive,  as  relating  to  him- 
self and  the  Father, — We  will  come  unto  him,  and  make 
our  abode  with  him ;  when  he  speaks  of  the  glory  he  ha(i 
mth.  the  Father  before  the  world  was ;  when  he  engages, 
himself,  to  send  down  the  Holy  Spirit  after  his  ascension,— 
I  will  send  you  another  comforter ;  when  he  claims  to  be 
the  judge  of  the  world,  and  speaks  of  holding  the  world's 
throne;  nay,  when,  to  give  his  most  ordinary  and  fimiiiar 
mode  of  doctrine,  he  says, — 1  am  the  way,  the  trclii,  anJ 

38 


446  CHRIST    AS    SEPARATE 

the  life;  no  man  coraeth  unto  the  Father  but  hy  me;  it  is 
rncst  certainly  true,  that  he  is  challenging,  in  all  such 
utterances,  honors  and  prerogatives  that  are  not  human. 
At  the  same  time,  if  he  had  not  before  separated  himself 
heaven-wide  from  men,  by  his  character,  and  produced,  in 
thcit.  manner,  a  sense  of  some  wonderful  mystery  in  him. 
he  would  have  been  utterly  scouted  and  hooted  out  of  the 
world  for  his  preposterous  assumptions.  These  very  as- 
sumptions, therefore,  presuppose  a  separation  already  real- 
ized, even  morft  remarkable  than  that  which  is  claimed,  or 
asserted.  Indeed,  the  minds  of  his  disciples  were  so  much 
occupied  with  the  impressions  they  felt,  under  the  realities 
of  his  character,  that  they  scarcely  attended  to  the  strange 
assumptions  of  his  words,  and  did  not  even  seem  to  have 
taken  their  meaning  till  after  his  death. 

The  remarkable  separation,  therefore,  of  Chi-ist  from  the 
■dinners  of  mankind,  and  the  impression  he  awakened  m 
them  of  that  sej^arotion,  was  made,  not  by  scenes,  nor  by 
ivords  of  assertion,  nor  by  any  thing  designed  for  that 
purpose,  but  it  grew  out  of  his  life  and  character, — his  un- 
worldhness,  holiness,  puritv,  truth,  love;  the  dignity  of  hi?, 
feeling,  the  transcendent  wisdom  and  grace  of  his  conduct. 
He  was  manifestly  one  that  stood  apart  from  the  world,  in 
his  profoundest  human  sympathy  with  it.  He  often  spent 
his  nights  in  solitary  prayer,  closeted  with  God  in  the  Tf> 
■cesses  of  the  mountains.  He  was  plainly  not  under  the 
A'orld,  or  an}^  fashions  of  human  opinion.  He  was  able 
to  be  singular,  without  apparently  desiring  it,  and  by  the 
simple  force  of  his  superiority.  Conventionalities  had  no 
power  over  him,  learning  no  authority  with  him.  He  bor- 
rowed nothiiig  from  men.  His  very  thoughts  appeared  to 
br  coined  in  the  mint  of  some  wisdom  higher  than  humar> 


FROM    THE    WORLD.  441 

There  was  also  this  distinction  in  all  his  virtues,  tl^t  they 
did  not  open,  like  those  of  men  at  the  larger  end,  growing 
less  and  less,  the  further  ir.  they  might  be  penetrated ;  liut 
at  the  smaller,  as  if  nc  strain,  or  ostentation  were  possible, 
growing  larger  therefore,  and  wider,  and  fuller,  the  more 
conversant  and  the  more  familiar  with  them  any  one  might 
be.  His  whole  ministry,  therefore,  was  a  kind  of  discovery 
and  so  a  process  of  separation.  The  purity  of  his  life 
grew  tall ;  the  truth  of  his  doctrine  more  than  mortal,  or 
that  of  any  mortal  prophet;  his  love  itself  deilic ;  and  so— 
this  is  the  grandeur  and  glory  of  his  life, — he  rose  up  out 
of  humanity  or  the  hum?n  level  into  deity  and  the  sejja- 
rate  order  of  uncreated  life,  by  the  mere  force  of  his  man- 
aer  and  character,  and  achieved,  as  man,  the  sense  of  a  di- 
vine excellence,  before  his  personal  order  as  the  Son  of 
God  was  conceived.  And  so  it  finally  became  established 
in  men's  feeling,  as  it  stood  in  his  last  prayer,  that  there 
was  some  inexplicable  oneness,  where  his  inmost  life  and 
spirit  merged  in  the  divine  and  became  identical.  His 
human  fire  had  already  mingled  its  blaze  with  the  great 
central  sun  of  deity. 

Accordingly  what  we  see  in  his  resurrection  and  ascen- 
sion, and  the  scenes  of  intercourse  between,  is  only  a  kind 
of  tinal  consummation,  or  complete  rendering  of  what  waa 
already  in  men's  hearts.  There  it  begins  to  come  out  that 
he  is  the  King,  even  the  Lord  of  Glory.  Death  can  not 
hold  him.  The  earth  can  not  fasten  him.  The  paning 
clouds  receive  him  and  let  him  through  to  his  throne,  not 
more  truly  but  only  more  visibly  separate  than  before,  in 
that  he  is  made  higher  than  the  heavens. 

How  great  a  thing  now  is  it,  my  hearers,  that  such  a 


448  CHRIST    AS    SP]PARATE 

being  has  come  into  our  world  and  lived  in  it, — a  being 
abo  ve  mortality  while  in  it ;  a  being  separate  fi."om  sinners, 
bringing  unto  sinners,  by  a  fellow  nature,  what  is  trans- 
cendent and  even  deific  in  the  divine  holiness  and  love. 
Yes,  we  have  had  a  visitor  among  us,  living  out,  in  ihe 
molds  of  human  conduct  and  feeling,  the  perfections  of 
God!  What  an  importation  of  glory  and  truth!  Who, 
that  lives,  a  man,  can  ever  after  this  think  it  a  low  and 
common  thing  to  fill  these  spheres,  walk  in  these  ranges 
of  life,  and  do  these  works  of  duty,  which  have  been 
raised  so  high,  by  the  life  of  Jasus  in  the  flesh  I  The 
world  is  no  more  the  same  that  it  was.  All  its  main  ideaa 
and  ideals  are  raised.  A  kind  of  sacred  glory  invests 
even  our  humblest  spheres  and  most  common  concerns. 

Consider,  again,  as  one  of  the  points  deducible  from  the 
truth  we  have  been  considering,  how  little  reason  is  given 
iis,  in  the  mission  of  Christ,  for  the  hope  that  God,  who  haa 
Buch  love  to  man,  will  not  allow  us  to  fail  of  salvation,  by 
reason  of  any  mere  defect,  or  neglect,  of  application  to 
Christ.  What  then  does  this  peculiar  separateness  of 
Christ  signify  ?  Coming  into  the  world  to  save  it,  taking 
on  him  our  nature  that  he  may  draw  himself  as  close  to 
us  as  possible,  what  is  growing  all  the  while  to  be  more 
und  more  felt  in  men's  bosoms,  but  a  sense  of  ever- widen- 
ing, ever-deepening,  and,  in  some  sense,  incommunicable 
separateness  from  him?  And  this,  you  will  observe,  is  the 
separateness,  not  of  condition,  but  of  character.  Nay,  it 
grows  out  of  his  very  love  to  us  in  part,  and  his  profound 
oneness  with  us ;  for  it  is  a  love  so  pure  and  gentle,  so 
patient,  so  disinterested,  so  self-sacrificing,  that  it  parts 
him  from  us,  in  the  very  a3t  of  embrace,  and  nakes  us 


FKOM    THE    WORLD.  449 

think  of  him  even  with  awe!  How  then  will  it  be,  when 
he  is  met  in  the  condition  of  his  glor/,  and  the  guise  of  his 
humanity  is  laid  off?  There  is  nothing  then  to  put  him  at 
one  with  us,  or  us  at  one  with  him,  but  just  that  incom- 
municable and  separate  character  which  fills  us  even  here 
\j  ith  dread.  If  then  your  very  Saviour  grows  more  and 
more  separated  from  you,  in  all  your  impressions,  the  more 
you  see  of  him,  how  will  it  be,  when  you  drop  the  flesh 
and  go  to  meet  him,  invested  only  in  your  proper  character 
of  sin?  If  before  you  thought  of  him  with  awe,  and  even 
with  a  holy  dread,  how  little  confidence  will  be  left  you 
there,  when  you  see  him  in  the  fullness  of  his  glory,  even 
that  which  he  had  with  the  Father  before  the  world  was. 
If  he  was  separate  before,  bow  inevitably,  insupportably 
separate  now. 

Consider  also  and  accurately  distinguish,  as  here  we 
may  easily  do,  what  is  meant  by  holiness,  and  what  espe- 
cially is  its  power,  or  the  law  of  its  power.  Holiness  is 
not  what  we  may  do  or  become,  in  mere  self-activity  or 
self-culture,  but  it  is  the  sense  of  a  separated  quality,  in 
one  who  lives  on  a  footing  of  intimacy  and  oneness  with 
Grod.  The  original  word,  represented  by  our  word  holi- 
ness^ means  separation,  or  separateness ;  the  character  of 
being  drawn  apart,  or  exalted,  by  being  consecrated  to  God 
and  filled  with  inspiration  from  God.  It  supposes  noth- 
ing unsocial,  withdraws  no  one  from  those  living  sjnnpa- 
thies  that  gladden  human  life.  On  the  contrary,  it  quick- 
ens all  most  gentle  and  loving  affinities  and  brings  the 
subject  just  as  much  closer  in  feeling  to  his  fellow-man,  a£ 
he  is  closer  to  God,  and  less  centralized  in  himself.  Bui 
it  changes  the  look  or  expression,  raising,  in  that  man 

38* 


450  CHRIST    AS    SEPARATE 

ner,  the  apparent  grade  of  tlie  subject  and  separating  h.u 
from  whatever  is  of  the  world,  or  under  the  spirit  of  tha 
world.  He  is  not  simply  a  man  as  before,  but  he  is  more, 
a  man  exalted,  hallowed,  glorified.  The  divine  tempera 
are  in  him,  the  power  of  the  world  is  fallen  off,  his  word.q 
have  a  different  accent,  his  acts  an  tiir  of  repose,  dignity, 
sanctity,  and  the  result  is  that  mankind  feel  him  as  one 
somehow  become  superior.  It  ^tirs  their  conscience  to 
speak  with  him,  it  puts  them  under  impressions  that  are 
consciously  not  of  man  alone.  This  is  holiness — the  con- 
dition of  a  man,  when  he  is  separated  visibl}'  from  the 
world  and  raised  above  it,  by  a  divine  participation.  It 
is,  in  fact,  the  greatest  power  ever  exerted  by  man,  being 
not  the  power  of  man,  but  only  of  God  himself  manifested 
in  him. 

But  the  great  and  principal  lesson  derivable  from  this 
subject  is,  that  Christianity  is  a  regenerative  power  upon  the 
world,  only  as  it  comes  into  the  world  in  a  separated  charac- 
ter, as  a  revelation,  or  sacred  importation  of  holiness. 

Wo  have  in  these  times,  a  very  considerable  and  quite 
pretentious  class,  who  have  made  the  discover}^  that  Christ 
actually  eat  with  publicans  and  sinners !  This  fact  indeed 
is  their  gospel.  Christ  they  say  was  social,  drew  himself 
to  every  human  being,  poured  his  heart  into  every  human 
joy  and  woe,  lived  in  no  ascetic  manner  as  a  being  with 
draw  n  from  life.  And  so  it  becomes  a  principal  matter  of 
duty  with  us,  to  meet  all  human  conditions  in  a  human 
way  and  make  ourselves  acceptable  to  all.  They  do  not 
observe  that  Jesus  brought  in  something  into  every  scene 
of  society  and  hospitality,  v/hich  showed  a  mind  set  ofi 
from  all  conformities.     When  he  f  at  with  publicans  and 


FROM    THE    WORLD.  461 

» 

ftiimei's,  be  declared  expressly  that  he  did  it  as  a  physician 
f^oes  to  the  sick,  did  it  that  he  might  so  call  siimers  to  re- 
pentance. So  when  he  dined  with  Zaccheus,  ho  there  pro- 
claimed himself  the  Son  of  Man,  who  was  come  to  save 
the  lost.  When  he  shared  the  assiduous  hospitality  of 
Martha,  what  did  he  but  remind  her  of  the  one  thing 
needful,  quite  passed  by  in  her  over-doing  carefulness? 
And  when  he  dined  with  one  of  the  great  rich  men  of  the 
Pharisees,  what  did  he  but  strike  at  the  very  usurpation 
of  all  high  fashion,  by  openly  rebuking  those  who  seized 
on  the  highest  places  of  precedence?  and  what  did  he  pro- 
pose to  the  host  himself,  but  that  true  hospitality  is  that 
which  is  given,  with  no  hope  of  return? — in  which  also,  he 
touched  the  very  quick  of  all  heartlessness  and  all  real 
mockery  in  what  is  called  society.  Yes,  it  is  true  that  Je- 
sus eat  with  publicans  and  sinners.  He  never  stood  apart 
from  any  advance  of  men.  But  how  visibly  separated  waa 
he  there  and  everywhere,  from  the  shallow  convention- 
alities of  the  world;  how  pure,  majestic,  free,  and  faithful 
to  his  great  ministry  of  salvation! 

We  have  also  a  great  many  schemes  of  philanthropy 
started  in  these  days,  that  suppose  a  preparation  of  man, 
or  s")ciety  to  be  moved  directly  forward,  on  its  present 
plane,  into  some  advanced,  or  nearly  paradisaic  state. 
The  manner  is  to  address  men  at  their  present  point,  in 
their  present  motive,  under  their  present  condition,  with 
gome  hope  of  development,  jome  scheme,  truth,  organiza- 
tion, and  so  to  bring  them  into  some  compact,  or  way  of 
life  that  will  discontinue  the  present  evils  and  make  s 
happy  state.  As  if  there  were  any  such  feasibilitj^  U 
good  in  man,  that  he  can  be  put  in  felicity  by  mere  invita- 
tion, or  consent !     Christ  and  Christianity  think  otherwise 


452  CHRIST    AS    SEPARATE 

For  the  blessed  Redeemer  comes  into  the  world,  in  thi 
full  understanding  that,  in  being  identified  with  the  world, 
he  will  become  a  great  power,  only  as  he  is  also  separated 
from  it.  And  in  this  lies  the  efficacy  of  his  mission,  tl^at 
he  brings  to  men  what  is  not  lu  them,  what  is  oj^posite  to 
them,  the  separated  glory,  the  holiness  of  God.  Come 
then  ye  holiday  saviours,  ye  reformers,  and  philanthropic 
regenerators  of  the  world,  send  forth  your  invitations  to 
society,  summon  the  world  to  come  near  and  make  even  a 
fixed  contract  to  be  happ}^,  and  one  that  shall  be  indisso- 
luble forever!  Bring  out  your  paper  coaches  and  bid 
the  sorrow  stricken  peoples  ride  forth,  down  the  new 
millenium  you  promise  without  prophecy ;  do  your  utmost; 
stimulate  every  most  confident  hope,  and  then  see  wha^ 
your  toy-shop  apparatus  signifies! 

No,  we  want  a  salvation,  which  means  a  grace  brought 
into  the  world,  that  is  not  of  it.  When  the  real  Saviour 
comes,  there  will  be  great  falling  off,  for  the  thoughts  of 
many  hearts  will  be  revealed.  He  will  not  be  a  popular  Sa- 
viour. He  that  puts  men  in  awe,  as  of  some  higher  spirit 
and  more  divine  of  which  they  know  nothing;  he  that  visits 
the  world  to  be  unworldly  in  it,  and  draw  men  apart  from 
it  and  break  its  terrible  spell — he,  I  say,  will  not  be  hailed 
witli  favor  and  applause.  Indeed  1  very  much  fear  thai 
many  who  assume  even  now  to  be  his  disciples,  would 
not  like  him,  if  he  were  to  appear  on  earth.  His  un- 
worldly manner,  his  profound  singularity  as  a  being  supe- 
rior to  sin,  and  to  all  human  conventionalities,  would 
offend  them,  and  drive  them  quite  away.  Who  of  us,  here 
to-day,  would  really  follow  Jesus  and  cleave  to  hnn,  if  he 
were  now  living  among  us'/ 

This  brings  me  to  speak  of  what  is  now  the  great  and 


FROM    THE    WORLD  45t 

desolating  erroi  of  our  times.  I  mefiu  the  gener:il  con- 
formity of  the  followers  of  Christ  to  the  mancers  and 
ways,  and,  consequently,  in  a  great  degree,  to  the  spii-it  oi 
tlie  world.  Christ  had  his  power,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the 
fact  that  he  carried  the  impression  of  his  separateness  fioir 
it,  and  his  superiority  to  it.  He  was  no  ascetic,  his  sepa- 
ration no  contrived  and  prescribed  separation,  but  was 
only  the  more  real  and  radical  that  it  was  the  very  instinct, 
or  freest  impulse  of  his  character.  He  could  say; — The 
prince  of  this  world  cometh  and  hath  nothing  in  me; 
counting  the  bad  kingdom  to  be  only  a  paste-board  affair, 
whose  laws  and  ways  were  but  a  vain  show,  that  he  could 
not  even  so  much  as  feel.  This  now  is  what  we  want, 
such  a  fullness  of  divine  participation,  that  we  shall  not 
require  to  be  always  shutting  off  the  world  by  prescribed 
denials,  but  shall  draw  off  from  it  naturally,because  we  are 
not  of  it.  A  true  Christian,  one  who  is  deep  enough  in  the 
godly  life  to  have  his  affinities  with  God,  will  infallibly  be- 
come  a  separated  being.  The  instinct  of  holiness  will  draw 
him  apart  into  a  singular,  superior,  hidden  life  with  God. 
And  this  is  the  true  Christian  power,  besides  which  there 
is  no  other.  And  when  this  fails  every  thing  goes  with  it. 
Neither  let  us  be  deceived  in  this  matter,  by  our  merely 
notional  wisdoms,  or  deliberative  judgments,  for  it  is  not  a 
matter  to  be  decided  by  any  consideration  of  results — the 
question  never  is,  what  is  really  harmful  and  so,  wrong, 
but  what  will  meet  the  living  and  free  instinct  of  a  life  of 
prayer  and  true  godliness  ?  I  confess  that  when  the  ques- 
tion is  raised,  whether  certain  common  forms  of  sodetj 
and  amusement  are  to  be  indulged  or  disallowed,  the  argu- 
ment sorietimes  appears  to  preponderate  on  the  side  of  in 
flulgence.    What  is  more  innocent  ?-  -must  we  take  the  mO' 


454  CHRIST    AS    SEPARATE 

rose  and,  as  it  were,  repugnaLt  attitude  of  disallowing  and 
rejecting  every  thing  harmless  that  is  approved  by  men  I 
in  vi'hat  other  way  could  we  more  certainly  oifend  their 
good  judgment  arid  alienate  their  personal  confidence? 
ought  we  not  even  to  yield  a  certain  allowable  freedom 
for  their  sake  ?  So  stands  the  computation.  Let  it  be 
granted  that,  as  a  matter  of  deliberation,  the  scale  is  turned 
tor  conformity.  And  yet  the  decision  taken  will  not  stand ; 
lor  there  is  no  truly  living  Christian  that  wants,  or  at  ail 
relishes  such  conformities.  On  the  other  hand,  you  will 
see  that  such  as  argue  for  them  and  make  interest  in  ther">, 
however  well  disposed  in  matters  philanthropic,  have  little 
or  nothing  in  them  of  that  which  is  the  distinctively  Chris- 
tian power,  and  do  not  add  any  thing  to  the  living  impres- 
sion of  the  gospel.  For  the  radical  element  of  all  great 
impression  is  wanting — viz.,  the  sense  of  a  separated  life. 
Their  instinct  does  not  run  that  way.  What  they  want 
is  conformity,  more  conformity,  to  be  always  like  the 
world,  not  different  from  it,  and  in  that  gulf  they  sink, 
lost  to  all  good  effect,  nay  a  hindrance  to  all. 

There  is  no  greater  mistake,  as  regards  the  true  manner 
of  impression  on  the  world,  than  that  we  impress  it  as 
being  homogeneous  with  it.  Tf,  in  our  dress  we  show  the 
earae  extravagance,  if  our  amusements  are  theirs  without 
a  distinction,  if  we  follow  after  their  shows,  copy  their  man 
ncrs,  bury  ourselves  in  their  worldly  objects,  emulate  their 
fashions,  what  are  we  different  from  them  ?  It  seems  quite 
plausible  to  fancy  the  great  honor  we  shall  put  on  religion, 
when  we  are  able  to  °et  :t  on  a  footing  with  all  mo8\ 
worldly  things,  and  show  that  we  can  be  Christians  in 
that  plausible  way.  This  we  call  a  liberal  piety.  It  la 
Buch  as  can  excel  in  all  high  tastes,  and  make  up  a  figure 


FROM    THE     WORLD.  455 

of  beauty  that  must  needs  be  a  gi'eat  coi.iTaendation,  we 
think,  to  rehgion.  It  may  be  a  little  better  than  to  be 
openly  apostate ;  but  alas !  there  is  how  little  power  in 
such  a  kind  of  life!  No,  it  is  not  conformity  that  wc 
want,  it  is  not  being  able  to  beat  the  world  in  its  own 
way,  but  it  is  to  stand  apart  from  it,  and  produce  the  im- 
pression of  a  separated  life ;  this  it  is  and  this  only,  that 
yields  any  proper  sense  of  the  true  Christian  power.  It 
is  not  the  being  popular  tliat  makes  one  a  help  to  religion, 
no  holy  man  was  ever  a  truly  popular  character.  Ever 
Christ  himself,  bringing  the  divine  beauty  into  the  world, 
profoundly  disturbed  the  quiet  of  men  by  his  very  per- 
fections. All  really  bad  men  adhering  to  their  sin,  hated 
liim,  and  their  animosity  was  finally  raised  to  such  a  pitch, 
that  they  crucified  him.  And  what  does  he  say,  turning 
to  his  disciples,  but  this  very  thing — The  servant  is  not 
greater  than  his  lord — if  they  have  persecuted  me  they 
will  persecute  you.  I  have  chosen  you  out  of  the  world, 
therefore  the  world  hateth  you.  We  are  certainly  not  to 
make  a  merit  of  being  hated,  for  the  worst  and  most 
wicked  can  do  that ;  as  little  are  we  to  make  a  merit  of 
popularity  and  being  even  with  the  world  in  its  ways. 
There  is  no  just  mode  of  life,  no  true  holiness,  or  fruit  of 
holy  living,  if  we  do  not  cany  the  conviction,  by  our  self- 
denial,  our  sobriety  in  the  maiter  of  show,  and  our  with- 
holding from  all  that  indicates  being  under  the  world,  that 
we  are  in  a  life  separated  to  God.  Therefore  his  great  call 
is — Come  out  from  arrong  them  and  be  ye  separate  and 
touch  not  the  unclean  thing,  and  ye  shall  be  my  sons  and 
daughters  saith  the  Lord  Almighty.  And  there  is  a 
most  profound  philosophy  in  this.  If  we  arc  to  iir.jjrcsfi 
the  world  we  must  be  separate  from  sinners,  even  as  Chi-ist 


456  CHRIST    A3    SEPARATlt      ETC. 

wur  Master  was,  or  a  t  least  accoi  ding  to  our  human  degree 
as  being  in  his  spirit.  The  great  difficulty  is  that  we  thini 
to  impress  the  world,  standing  on  the  world's  own  ievel 
and  asking  its  approbation.  We  conform  too  easily  and 
wnth  too  much  appetite.  We  are  all  the  while  touching 
the  unclean  thing,  bowing  down  to  it,  accepting  its  law, 
eager  to  be  found  approved  in  it.  God  therefore  calls  u? 
away.  O  that  we  could  take  our  lesson  here,  and  plan 
our  life,  order  our  pursuits,  choose  our  relaxations,  prepare 
our  families,  so  as  to  be  truly  with  Christ,  and  so  in  fact 
that  we  ourselves  can  say,  each  for  himself, — The  prince 
of  this  world  cometh  and  hath  nothing  in  me. 

And  this  exactly  is  our  communion  with  Jesus ;  we  pro- 
pose to  be  one  with  him  in  it.  In  it,  we  connect  with  a  pow- 
er transcendent,  the  Son  of  Man  in  glory,  whose  image  wc 
aspire  to,  and  whose  mission,  as  the  Crucilied  on  earth,  was 
the  revelation  of  the  Father's  love  and  holiness.  We  ask 
t^)  be  separated  with  him  and  set  apart  to  the  same  great 
life.  Our  communion  is  not  on  the  level  of  our  common 
humanity,  but  we  rise  i^  it;  we  scale  the  heavens  where  he 
eitteth  at  the  right  hand  of  God ;  we  send  our  longings  up 
and  ask  to  have  attachments  knit  to  him;  to  be  set  in  deep- 
est, holiest,  and  most  practical  affinity  with  him;  and  so  t*j 
live  a  life  that  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God.  In  such  a  life, 
we  become  partakers  of  his  holiness,  and,  in  the  separating 
gra<;e  of  that,  partakers  also  of  his  power. 


CHRISTIAN    EVIDENCES    AND 
HOMILETICS. 


MANUAL  OF  CHRISTIAN  EVIDENCES.  By  Prof.  GEORGE 
PARK  FISHER,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Ecclesiastical 
History  in  Yale  College.    16mo,  75  cents. 

The  aim  of  the  book  is  to  present  the  Evidences  of  Christianity  in 
a  concise,  lucid  form,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  have  not  the  leisure 
to  study  extended  treatises  on  the  subject.  It  is  intended  both  for 
private  reading  and  for  the  use  of  classes  in  public  institutions.  Al- 
though brief,  it  includes  a  distinct  statement  of  both  the  internal  and 
external  i^roofs.  The  arguments  are  shaped  to  meet  objections  and 
difficulties  which  are  felt  at  the  present  time,  and  the  historic  evidence 
is  carefully  confined  to  the  present  state  of  scholarship  and  learning. 

THE  EXAMINER.— "It  Is  vrortti  Its  -weight  In  gold.  It  is  by  all  odds  the  best 
treatise  on  the  Evidences  of  Christianity  for  general  use  that  we  know.  It  la 
sound,  judicious,  clear,  and  scholarly." 

THE  N.  Y.  SUN.— "Compact,  thorough,  and  learned,  its  simplicity  of  style 
and  brevity  ought  to  commend  it  to  a  wide  circle  of  readers." 

THE  GROUNDS  OF  THEISTIC  AND  CHRISTIAN  BELIEF.  By 
Prof.  GEORGE  P.  FISHER,  D.D.,  LL.D.    Crown  8vo,  $2.50. 

FROM  THE  PREFACE.— "This  volume  embraces  a  discussion  of  the  e^'ldencca 
of  both  natural  and  revealed  religion.  Prominence  is  given  to  topics  having 
special  interest  at  present  from  their  connection  with  modern  theories  and  diffi- 
culties. The  argument  of  design,  and  the  bearing  of  evolutionary  doctrines  on 
its  validity,  are  fully  considered." 

JULIUS  H.  SEELYE,  President  of  Amherst  College.— "I  find  It  as  I  should 
expect  it  to  be,  wise  and  candid,  and  convincing  to  an  honest  mind." 

PROF.  JAMES  O.  MURRAY,  o/Pn"n^eton  CoZJegp.—"  It  is  eminently  fitted  to 
meet  the  honest  doubts  of  some  of  our  best  young  men.  Its  fairness  and  candor. 
Its  learning  and  ability  in  argument,  its  thorough  handling  of  modern  objections 
—all  these  qualities  fit  it  for  such  a  service,  and  a  great  service  it  is." 

ESSAYS  ON  THE  SUPERNATURAL  ORIGIN  OF  CHRISTIAN' 
ITY.  By  Prof.  GEORGE  P.  FISHER,  D.D.,  LL.D.  8vo, 
new  and  enlarged  edition,  S2.50. 

THE  NEW  YORK  TRIEUNE.—"ni3  volume  evinces  rare  versatility  of  intellect, 
with  a  scholarship  no  less  sound  and  judicious  In  Its  tone  and  extensive  in  its 
attainments  than  it  is  modest  in  its  pretensions." 

THE  BRITISH  QUARTERLY  REVIEW.— "We  know  not  where  the  student  will 
find  a  more  satisfactory  guide  in  relation  to  the  great  questions  which  have  grown 
up  between  the  friends  of  the  Christian  revelation  and  the  most  able  of  its  assail- 
ants, within  the  memory  of  the  present  generation." 


CHURCH    HISTORY. 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  CHRISTIANITY.  Wrth  a  View  of  tha 
State  of  the  Roman  World  at  the  Birth  of  Christ.  Bjf 
GEORGE  P.  FISHER,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Church 
History  in  Yale  College.    8vo,  S2.50. 

THE  BOSTON  ADVERTISER.— "  Prof.  Fisher  has  displayed  in  this,  a.s  in  hia 
previous  published  writings,  that  catholicity  and  that  calm  judicial  quality  of 
mind  which  are  so  indispensable  to  a  true  historical  critic." 

THE  EXAMINER.— "The  voJame  is  not  a  dry  repetition  of  well-known  facts. 
It  bear3  the  marts  of  original  researclL  Every  pa4e  glows  with  Ireshncss  of 
material  and  choiceness  of  diction." 

THE  EVANGELIST.— "The  volume  contains  an  amount  of  Information  that 
makes  ft  one  of  the  most  useful  of  treatises  for  a  student  in  philosophy  and 
theology,  and  must  secure  lor  it  a  place  in  his  library  as  a  standai-d  authority." 

HISTORY  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  By  GEORGE  P. 
FISHER,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Ecclesiastical  History  in 
Yale  University.    8vo,  with  numerous  maps,  $3.50. 

This  work  is  in  several  respects  notable.  It  g'ives  an  able  presenta- 
tion of  the  subject  in  a  single  volume,  thu.s  suppiving  the  need  of  a 
complete  and  at  the  same  time  condensed  survey  of  Church  History. 
It  will  also  be  found  much  broader  and  more  comprehensive  than  other 
books  of  the  kind. 

HON.  GEORGE  BANCROFT.— "I  have  to  tell  you  of  the  pride  and  delight 
with  which  I  have  examined  your  rich  and  most  instructive  volume.  As  an 
American,  let  me  thank  you  for  producing  a  work  so  honorable  to  the  cormtry." 

REV.  R.  S.  STORRS,  D.D.— "I  am  surprised  that  the  author  has  been  able  to 
put  such  multitudes  of  facts,  with  analysis  of  opinions,  definitions  of  tendencies, 
and  concise  personal  sketches,  into  a  narrative  at  once  so  graceful,  graphic,  and 
compact." 

PROF.  ALEXANDER  V.  G.  ALLEN,  Episcopal  Divinity  SchooJ,  Camhriage, 
Mass.—  "  It  has  the  merit  of  being  eminently  readable.  Its  conclusions  rest  on  tlic 
widest  research  and  the  latest  and  best  scholarship,  it  keeps  a  just  sense  of  pro- 
portion in  the  treatment  of  topics,  it  is  written  in  the  interest  of  Ciiristianity  as  a 
whole  and  not  of  any  sect  or  church,  it  is  so  entirely  impartial  that  it  is  not  easy 
to  discern  the  author's  sympathies  or  his  denominational  attitude,  and  it  has  the 
great  advantaje  of  dwelling  at  due  length  upon  English  and  American  Church 
history.  In  short,  it  is  a  work  which  no  one  but  a  long  and  successful  teacher  o^ 
Church  History  could  have  produced." 


STANDARD   TEXT  BOOKS.  37 

HISTORY  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  By  PHILIP  SCHAFF, 
D.D.  New  Edition,  re-written  and  enlarged.  Vol.  I.— Apos- 
tolic Christianity,  A.D.  1—100.  Vol.  II.— Ante-Nicene  Chris- 
tianity, A.D.  100-325.  Vol.  Ill.-Nicene  and  Post-Nicene 
Christianity,  A.D.  311-600.  Vol.  IV.-Mediaeval  Christianity, 
A.D.  590—1073.  Vol.  VI.— Wodern  Christianity.  The  German 
Reformation,  A.D.  1517-1530.    6vo,  price  per  vol.,  $4.00. 

This  worlc  is  extremely  comprehensive.  All  subjects  that  properly 
belong  to  a  complete  sketch  are  treated,  including  the  history  of  Chris- 
tian art,  hymnology,  accounts  of  the  lives  and  chief  works  of  the 
Fathers  of  the  Church,  etc.  The  great  theological,  christological,  and 
anthropological  controversies  of  the  period  are  duly  sketched  ;  and  in 
all  the  details  of  history  the  organizing  hand  of  a  master  is  distinctly 
seen,  shaping  the  mass  of  materials  into  order  and  system. 

PROF.  GEO.  P.  FISHER,  Of  Yale  College.— "Dv.  Sohaff  has  thoroughly  and 
Buccessfully  accomplished  his  task.  The  volumes  arc  replete  with  evidences  of  a 
careful  study  of  the  original  sources  and  of  an  extraordinary  and,  we  might  say, 
unsurpassed  acquaintance  with  the  modern  literature— German,  French,  and 
English— in  the  department  of  ecclesiastical  history.  They  are  equally  marked  by 
a  fair-minded,  conscientious  spirit,  as  well  as  by  a  lucid,  animated  mode  of 
presentation." 

PROF.  ROSWELL  D.  HITCHCOCK,  D.D. —"In  no  other  single  work  of 
Its  kind  with  which  I  am  acquainted  will  students  and  general  readers  find  so 
much  to  instruct  and  interest  them." 

DR.  JUL.  DULLER,  Of  Halle.— "It  is  the  only  history  of  the  first  six  cen- 
turies which  truly  satisfies  the  wants  of  the  present  age.  It  is  rich  in  results  of 
original  investigation." 

HISTORY  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  CHRIST,  IN  CHRONOLOGI- 
CAL TABLES.  A  Synchronistic  View  of  the  Events,  Charac- 
teristics, and  Culture  of  each  period,  including  the  History  jf 
Polity,  Worship,  Literature,  and  Doctrines,  together  with  two 
Supplementary  Tables  upon  the  Church  in  America;  and  an 
Appendix,  containing  the  series  of  Councils,  Popes,  Patri- 
archs, and  other  Bishops,  and  a  full  Index.  By  the  late 
HENRY  B.  SMITH,  D.D.,  Professor  in  the  Union  Theologi- 
cal Seminary  of  the  City  of  New  York.    Folio,  $5.00. 

REV.  DR.  W.  G.  T.  SHEDD.— " Prof.  Smith's  Historical  Tables  are  the  best 
that  I  know  of  in  any  language.  In  preparing  such  a  work,  with  so  much  care  and 
research,  Prof.  Smith  has  furnished  to  the  student  an  apparatus  that  will  be  ol 
life-long  service  to  him" 

REV.  DR.  WILLIAM  ADAMS.— "The  labor  expended  upon  such  a  work  la 
immense,  and  its  accuracy  and  completeness  do  honor  to  the  rcaearch  and 
Bcholarshlp  of  its  author,  and  are  an  invaluable  acquisition  to  our  literature." 


38  CHARLES  SGRTBNER'S  SONS' 


LECTURES  ON  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  JEWISH  CHURCH.  By 
ARTHUR  PENRHYN  STANLEY,  D,D.  With  Maps  and  Plans. 
New  Edition  from  New  PiateSj  with  the  author's  latest  revis- 
ion. Part  1.— From  Abraham  to  Samuel.  Part  II.— From 
Samuel  to  the  Captivity.  Part  lil.— From  the  Captivity  to 
the  Christian  Era.  Three  vols.,  12mo  (sold  separately),  each 
S2.00. 

The  same— Westminster  Edition.  Three  vols.,  8vo  (sold  in  sets 
only),  per  set,  $9.00. 

LECTURES  ON  THE   HISTORY  OF  THE  EASTERN   CHURCH. 

With  an  introduction  on  the  Study  of  Ecclesiastical  History. 
By  ARTHUR  PENRHYN  STANLEY,  D.D.  New  Edition  from 
New  Plates.    12m.o,  32.00. 

LECTURES  ON  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  SCOT- 
LAND. By  ARTHUR  PENRHYN  STANLEY,  D.D.  8vo,  S1.50. 

In  all  that  concerns  the  external  characteristics  of  the  scenes  and 
persons  described,  Dr.  Stanley  is  entirely  at  home.  His  books  are  not 
dry  records  of  historic  events,  but  animated  pictures  of  historic  scenes 
and  of  the  actors  in  them,  while  the  human  motives  and  aspects  of 
events  are  brought  out  in  bold  and  full  relief. 

THE  LONDON  CRITIC— "Earnest,  eloquent,  learned,  with  a  style  that  la 
never  monotonous,  but  luring  through  its  eloquence,  the  lectures  will  maintain 
his  fame  as  author,  scholar,  and  divine.  We  could  point  out  many  passages  that 
glow  with  a  true  poetic  fire,  but  there  are  hundreds  pictorially  rich  and  poetically 
true.     The  reader  experiences  no  weariness,  for  in  every  page  and  paragraph 

there  is  something  to  engage  the  mind  and  refresh  the  soul." 

• 

THE  NEW  ENGLANDER.—"  We  have  first  to  express  our  admiration  of  the 
grace  and  graphic  beauty  of  his  style.  The  felicitous  discrimination  in  the  use 
of  language  which  appears  on  every  page  is  especially  required  on  these  topics, 
Avhcre  the  author's  position  might  so  easily  be  mistaken  through  an  unguarded 
3tatement.  Dr.  Stanley  is  possessed  of  the  prime  quality  of  an  historical  student 
:nd  writer— namely,  the  historical  feeling,  or  sense,  by  which  conditions  of  life 
VJ.il  types  of  character,  remote  from  our  present  experience,  are  vividly  con- 
ceived of  and  truly  appreciated." 

THE  N.  Y.  TIMES.— "The  Old  Testament  History  is  here  presented  as  it 
never  was  presented  before ;  with  so  much  clearness,  elegance  of  style,  and  his- 
toric and  literary  illustration,  not  to  speak  of  learning  and  calmness  of  judgment, 
that  not  theologians  alone,  but  also  cultivated  readers  generally,  are  drawn  to  its 
pages.  In  point  of  style  it  takes  rank  with  Macau  lay's  History  ac  J  the  best 
chapters  of  Froude." 


SYSTEMATIC  THEOLOGY. 


SrSTEiViATIC  THEOLOGY.  By  CHARLES  HODGE,  D.D.,  LL.D.,, 

late  of  Princeton  Theological  Seminary.    New  Edition,  com- 
plete in  three  volumes,  including  index.    8vo,  $12.00. 

In  these  volumes  are  comprised  the  results  of  the  life-long'  labors 
and  investigations  of  one  oE  the  most  eminent  theologians  of  the  day. 
The  work  covers  the  ground  usually  occupied  by  treatises  on  Systematic 
Theology,  and  adopts  the  commonly  received  divisions  of  the  subject  : 
Vol.  I. — Theology;  Vol.  II. — Anthropology;  Vol.  III. — Soteriology 
and  Eschatology.  The  Introduction  is  devoted  to  the  consideration  o/.' 
method,  or  the  principles  which  should  gnide  the  student  of  theology, 
and  the  different  theories  as  to  the  source  and  standard  of  our  knowl- 
edge of  divine  things,  Rationalism,  Mysticism,  the  Roman  Catholic  doc- 
trine of  the  Rule  of  Faith,  and  the  Protestant  doctrine  on  that  subject. 

The  plan  of  the  author  is  to  state  and  vindicate  the  teachings  of 
the  Bible,  and  to  examine  the  antagonistic  doctrines  of  different  classes 
of  theologians. 

The  various  topics  are  discussed  with  that  close  and  keen  analytical 
and  logical  power,  combined  with  that  simplicity,  lucidity,  and 
strength  of  style  which  have  already  given  Dr.  Hodge  a  world-wide 
reputation  as  a  controversialist  and  writer,  and  as  an  investigator  of 
the  great  theolo^cal  problems  of  the  day. 

THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  TIMES.— "It  is  perhaps  not  too  much  to  say  of  It, 
^hat  this  l3  the  most  important  contribution  to  the  literature  of  theology  made 
since  the  days  of  Jonathan  Edwards.  The  reputation  of  Dr.  Hodge  in  this  depart- 
ment, by  reason  of  his  life-long  associations  and  hia  eminent  abilities.  Is  such  as 
to  command  for  him,  as  a  recognized  authority,  respectful  hearing  in  all  the 
churches." 

THE  NEW  YORK  CHRISTIAN  ADVOCATE.— "This  volume  is  a  monument 
of  thought  and  Christian  scholarship,  and  will  be  welcomed  and  studied  by 
Intelligent  minds  in  all  the  Christian  denominations." 

QUESTIONS  ON  THE  TEXT  OF  THE  SYSTEMATIC  THEOL- 
OGY of  Dr.  Charles  Hodge,  together  with  ^an  exhibition  of 
various  schemes  illustrating  the  principles  of  theological 
construction.  By  A.  A.  HODGE,  late  Professor  in  Princeton 
Theological  Seminary.    8vo,  paper,  $1.00  net. 

The  questions  contained  in  this  volume  are  designed  to  assist  the 
student  in  the  analysis  of  the  text,  and  in  fixing  the  points  to  be 
grasped  by  his  understanding  and  retained  in  his  memory,  and  further 
for  the  use  of  the  professor  during  review  and  examination. 


44  CHARLES  SGRIBNERS  SONS' 

DOGMATIC  THEOLOGY.  By  WILLIAM  G.  T.  SHEDD,  D.D., 
Professor  of  Systematic  Theology.    2  vols.,  8vo,  S7.00. 

CHRISTIAN  INTELLIGENCER.—"  The  pubUcation  of  a  System  of  Theology  bjf 
Prof.  Shecid  marks  an  epoch  In  scientific  religious  thought.  His  traming  has 
been  such  as  to  fit  him  exceptionally  for  this  culminating  work.  A  great  charm 
in  these  bulky  volumes  is  the  beautifully  clear,  precise,  and  simple  style  in  which 
they  are  written.  The  layman  can  read  them  with  as  much  ease  and  interest  as 
the  professional  theologian." 

JOHN  DE  WITT,  in  Pn-sbyterian  Review.— "It  is  didactic  rather  than 
polemic.  He  states,  expounds,  and  defends  what  he  believes  to  be  the  true  view, 
and  spends  little  time  in  expounding  and  opposing  heresies.  The  discussions  are 
compact    The  style  Is  absolutely  clear." 

NEW  YORK  EXAMINER.— "The  two  volumes  are  the  result  of  eighteen  years 
of  special  study  and  of  forty  years'  labor  in  theological  research.  The  treatment 
is  such  as  might  be  expected  of  Dr.  Shedd :  scholarly,  devout,  profound, 
thorough." 

PRACTICAL  THEOLOGY.  A  Manual  for  Theological  Students. 
By  J.  J.  VAN  OOSTERZEE,  D.D.,  Professor  of  Theology 
in  the  University  of  Utrecht.  Translated  and  adapted  to 
the  use  of  English  readers  by  Maurice  J.  Evans.    8vo,  S3. 50. 

Phis  is  the  result  of  instruction  in  practical  theology,  given  by  the 
author  during  a  period  of  fifteen  years  at  the  University  of  Utrecht, 
but  its  original  form  has  been  modified  or  supplemented  to  adai)t  it 
more  completely  for  use  as  a  text-book.  As  an  additional  feature  of 
interest  the  historic  portion  of  the  work  contains  such  brief  notices  of 
our  leading  Anglo-Saxon  preachers,  Christian  poets,  and  catechists,  as 
seemed  necessary  to  furnish  the  connecting  link  in  English  Church 
History  between  the  movements  of  the  Kef ormation  age  and  those  of 
our  own  day,  and  to  make  evident  the  unbroken  continuity  of  the 
Church's  life  amidst  the  constant  variation  of  outward  forms. 

CHRISTIAN  DOGMATICS.    A  Text-book  for  Academical  Instruc- 
tion and  Private  Study.    By  J.  J.  VAN  OOSTERZEE,  D.D., 
Professor  of  Theology  in  the  University  of  Utrecht.     Trans- 
lated by  John  W.  Watson,  B.A.,  and  Mauci^^e  J.  Evans,  B.A. 
Two  vols.,  8vo,  S5.00. 
THE  PRESBYTERIAN  BANNER.— "The  volumes  before  us  are  a  rich  mine 
for  the  student  and  the  theologian.    The  arrangement  is  good,  the  style  clear, 
and  the  spirit  evidently  evangelical.    The  study  of  these  volumes  will  stimulate 
thought,  enlarge  the  vision,  and  sfengthen  faith,  while  they  will  supply  rich 
material  for  all  whose  calling  it  is  to  preacn  the  gospel." 

THE  CHRISTIAN  INTELLIGENCER.— "Dr.  Van  Oosterzee  is  undoubtedly  a 
ripe  and  distinguished  scholar,  and  the  work  before  us  is  his  greatest  and  most  suc- 
cessful effort.  It  has  already  received  high  commendation  from  some  of  the 
ablest  EngUsh  scholars,  and  is  certified  to  by  Drs.  Smith  and  Schaff  as  giving 
•  the  mature  results  of  long-continued,  earnest,  and  devout  study  of  the  articles 
of  our  Christian  faith ; '  who  also  add  that  'it  will  prove  a  safe  and  useful  guld« 
to  students  in  our  institutions  of  learning.'" 


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